


Tithe: A Throne of Glass Modern Faerie Tale

by Acourtofshadowandbone



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe, Author has no idea what she’s doing, Chaol and Nehemia are dating in this i am so sorry but it fits the plot i promise, F/M, I love the modern faerie tales series so much, Kaye and Aelin are literally the same person change my mind, Lys is a shapeshifting faerie, Roiben and Rowan are the same brooding assholes we cant help but love, dorian is an Aquarius thus he is gay sorry I don’t make the rules, first fanfic, lots of creative liberties taken, no beta we die like men, ooc for sure, please give it a chance, send help, this is literally tithe by holly black but with our favorite ToG characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24547315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acourtofshadowandbone/pseuds/Acourtofshadowandbone
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Celaena Sardothien is finally free. Returning to her childhood home seven years after her parent’s death, she uncovers the truth of what magical beings dwell in the shadows of the Staghorns. Soon, Celaena finds herself a pawn in an ancient power struggle that she might have more of a place in than she previously thought.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn
Comments: 38
Kudos: 26





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Thank you for giving my first ever fanfic a chance! I re-read the both series during quarantine and I drew so many connections between Kaye and Aelin I was like I wonder how Aelin would act in Kaye’s situation, thus this fic was born. This fic contains a lot of direct dialog and narrative from the book Tithe by Holly Black, and I am taking zero credit for her amazing writing and hope my own holds even a crumb of own her talent. Characters belong to SJMaas and the plot belongs to Holly Black with a little of my own narrative and characterization thrown in. Enjoy!

Celaena Sardothien took another drag on her cigarette and dropped it into her adoptive father’s beer bottle. She figured that would be a good test to determine exactly how drunk Arobynn was — see if he would swallow a butt whole.

They were down in the pits still, Arobynn and Tern. It had been a bad fight and watching them trek up towards the bar, she could see that they knew it. It didn’t really matter, the fight was rigged and everyone had known it from the start, barely placing any money on bets - but everyone kept drinking and smoking and shouting so she doubted Arobynn minded. 

The bartender leered at her again and offered her a drink “on the house.”

“Milk,” Celaena smirked, brushing back her long blond hair and pocketing a couple of matchbooks when his back was turned. She always liked having a source of fire on her, whether that be a lighter or matches for some unknown, subliminal reason.

Then Arobynn was next to her, taking a deep swallow of the beer before spitting it all over the counter.

Celaena couldn’t help the wicked laughter that escaped her lips. Her “father” looked at her in disbelief. 

“Go try and make yourself useful,” Arobynn said, voice hoarse from shouting at the fighters. He was smoothing his long, auburn hair back from his face. His eyes had unusual black smudges underneath them. He looked tired. 

Celaena slid off the counter and leapt down onto the floor in one easy move. Tern glared at her as she slowly started walking towards the exit. His eyes were glazed. “Hey kid, got any money on you?”

Celaena shrugged and took out a ten-dollar bill. She had more, and he definitely knew it — she wasn’t dubbed Ardarlan’s Assassin for nothing. Ever since she paid her debt, money had been tight, but it would be a cold day in hell before she ever willingly fought down in the pits again.

He took the money and ambled off to the bar, probably to get some beer to go. 

Celaena took her time walking out towards the exit of The Vaults. People always got out of her way. The cool autumn air outside was a welcome relief, even stinking as it was with iron and exhaust fumes and the subways. The city always smelled like metal to Celaena. 

She stood outside for a few minutes, and went back inside, intent on carrying Arobynn out of the bar and driving him home, even though she had no idea how. They needed to move the car. You couldn’t leave a car parked too long anywhere in Rifthold, especially outside The Vaults. Last time Arobynn’s car had been broken into, they’d done it for a bag of clean towels that would’ve been used to wipe off the blood staining the floor of the pits.

The girl checking IDs at the door took a long look at her this time but didn’t say anything. She knew who Celaena was anyways. Arobynn was still at the bar, smoking a cigarette and drinking something stronger than beer. Tern was talking to a guy with short, brown hair. The man looked out of place in the bar, wearing something that looked vaguely like a whip strapped across his back, but nevertheless Tern had an arm slung over the man’s shoulder. She caught a flash of the man’s eyes. Something undoubtedly cruel and malicious reflecting in the dark bar. Celaena shivered.

Spotting Arobynn on the other side of the bar, Celaena walked over and made sure he was sober enough to stand. 

“Don’t spend too much longer here,” Celaena told him.

Arobynn nodded, barely listening. “Pass me another cigarette.”

Celaena fished the pack out of her small backpack and took out two, using her lighter to light both of them then passing one to Arobynn. 

He bent in close, the smell of whiskey and beer and sweat as familiar as any perfume to Celaena. She watched as the flames of the lighter slowly danced, then flickered out. 

“Ready to go?” Tern asked, and Celaena almosted jumped. It wasn’t that she hadn’t known he was there; it was the sound of his voice. It sounded velvety, a shade off of sleazy. Not normal asshole Tern voice. Not at all. 

Arobynn didn’t seem to notice anything. He swallowed what was left of his drink. “Sure.”

A moment later, Tern lifted his arm as though he were going to punch Arobynn in the back. Celaena reacted without thinking, shoving him. Her powerful shove combined with his drunkenness was more than enough to send him tumbling down. She saw the knife as it clattered to the floor. She looked at her hands, and saw her fingertips glowing as if there were little flames atop each one, but when she blinked, whatever she thought she had seen was gone.

Tern’s face was completely blank, empty of all emotion at all. His pupils however, were so dilated they swallowed his iris whole.

Arobynn sobered up instantly, sweeping his eyes over Tern, and landing on the small burn marks on Tern’s arms that looked almost like fingertips. 

**********

Only when her adoptive father pulled the car into the lot of her small apartment did he finally meet Celaena’s eyes. He had refused to look at her the entire drive there.

“Pack your things, you will leave for your uncle’s house in Orynth tomorrow.”

She blinked once, twice, and on the third time she realized that he was being serious.

“You don’t control my life, not anymore,” she snarled at him, hiding none of the malice that was in her eyes. “I paid my debt,  _ every last cent. _ I will live where I damn well please.”

She got out of the car and slammed the door with more force than was necessary.

Arobynn rolled down the car window and called to her back. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d take my warning to heart. It’s not safe for you in Rifthold anymore. Go back to Orynth. Go home. Go see that little friend of yours.”

“Nehemia,” Celaena said, pausing her retreat but not turning around. She hoped that was who Arobynn meant. She hoped that her “father” wasn’t teasing her about that “faerie” bullshit. 

Arobynn looked her dead in the eyes. “Leave. Don’t come back. You have nothing holding you here. If you leave tomorrow, you’ll never have to see me or this city again.”

She whipped around fast enough to give her whiplash. Meeting his stare, she saw everything she longed for: to finally be truly free. Even though her debt was paid in full, she knew she would never be truly free unless she left this city and never looked back. 

And he was letting her leave, no strings attached.

Celaena Sardothien looked at her adoptive father for what she hoped would be the last time. She sauntered up to the open car window, and smiled. “Goodbye then. I hope you’ve realized what you’ve done,” she said, and turned her back on the only father figure she ever had.

She thought she heard him whisper, “goodbye Aelin Galathynius,” but she wasn’t sure.

**********

After she packed up her meager belongings (she had always preferred quality over quantity), Celaena Sardothien stared into the fire she lit in her fireplace, completely entranced by the flames.

She lit a cigarette for herself by holding it close to the fire. She always thought she might burn herself, but she never did. And there was no sense in wasting matches. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6/7/20 I went back and changed the format of this chapter to match the rest of the fic. I’m still learning how AO3 works haha
> 
> I’m always open to constructive criticism, so if you have any leave it below! Thanks for giving this fic a chance!


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters belong to SJMass and the plot belongs to Holly Black. I take credit for literally nothing. Enjoy!

Celaena spun down the worn, gray boardwalk. The air was heavy and stank of dead fish and mosquito repellent. The Florine River stretched all the way from Orynth to the coast, and if she stood still enough, Celaena could feel the chilling breeze that swept all the way down from the Staghorn Mountains.

The moon was high and paled in the sky, but the sun was going down. 

It was so good to be able to  _ breathe,  _ Celaena thought. She loved the serenity of the river, lacking the brutality of the ocean yet remaining just as treacherous. She delighted in the slight fog that gave the river an eerie cast. She spun again, dizzily, not caring that her skirt was flying up over the tops of her black thigh-high stockings.

“Come on,” Nehemia called. She stepped over the overflowing, leaf-choked gutter along the street parallel to the boardwalk, wobbling slightly on fat-heeled platform shoes. Her glitter makeup sparkled under the street lamps. Nehemia exhaled ghosts of blue smoke and took another drag on her cigarette. “You’re going to fall.”

Celaena had been staying at her Uncle Darrow’s a week already, and even though she pondered moving out and living on her own like she had been in Rifthold, Celaena couldn’t help but feel comfortable in her childhood home. After her parents death, her uncle was placed in charge of the property until she turned eighteen and could take care of it herself. She was so close she could almost taste it.

The cheap hotels they passed were long closed and boarded up, their pools drained and cracked. Even the arcades were shut down, prizes in the claw machine still visible through the cloudless glass windows. Rust obscured a small storefront that, from what Celaena could tell, was once called MASTER BAIT & TACKLE.

Nehemia dug through her tiny purse and pulled out a wand of strawberry lip gloss. Celaena spun up to her, fake leopard coat flying open, a run already in her stocking. 

“Let’s go swimming,” Celaena said. She was giddy with night air, burning like the white-hot moon. Everything smelled wet and feral like it did before a thunderstorm, and she wanted to run, swift and eager beyond the edge of what she could see.

“The water’s freezing,” Nehemia said, sighing, “and your hair is fucked up. Celaena, when we get there, you have to be cool. Don’t seem so weird. Guys don’t like weird.”

Celaena paused and seemed to be listening intently, her upturned, kohl-rimmed eyes watching Nehemia as warily as a cat’s. “What should I be like?”

“It’s not that I want you to be a certain way — don’t you want a boyfriend?”

“Why bother with that? Let’s find witches.”

“What?”

“Witches. Plural. Like more than one witch. And we’re more likely to find them” — her voice dropped conspiratorially — “while swimming naked in the river a week before Halloween than practically anywhere else I can think of.”

Nehemia rolled her eyes.

“You know what the sun looks like?” Celaena asked. There was only a little more than a slice of red where the sea met the sky.

“No what?” Nehemia said, holding lip gloss out to Celaena. 

“Like he slit his wrists in a bathtub and the blood is all over the water.”

“That’s gross, Celaena.”

“And the moon is just watching. She’s just watching him die. She must have driven him to it.”

“Celaena…”

Celaena spun away, laughing.

“Why are you always making shit up? That’s what I mean by weird.” Nehemia was speaking loudly, but Celaena could hardly hear her over the wind and the sound of her own laughter.

“C’mon, Celaena. Remember the faeries you used to tell stories about? What was his name?”

“Which one? Gavriel or Sam?”

“Exactly. You made them up!” Nehemia said. “You always make things up.”

Celaena stopped spinning, cocking her head to one side, fingers sliding into her pockets. “I didn’t say that I didn’t.”

The old merry-go-round building had been semi-abandoned for years. The entire front of it was windowed, revealing the dirt floor, glass glittering against the refuse. Inside, a crude plywood skateboarding ramp was the only remains of an attempt to use the building commercially in the last decade. The usual angelic lead horses children rode were nowhere to be found, instead this carousel was one of mystical nature: it had unicorns and pegasi and griffins to ride, worn down enough that they had lost their luster.

Celaena could hear voices echoing in the still air all the way out to the street. Nehemia dropped her cigarette into the gutter. It hissed and was quickly carried away, sitting on the water like a spider.

Celaena hoisted herself up onto the outside ledge and swung her legs over. The window had been long gone, but her leg scraped against the residue as she slid in, fraying her stockings further.

Layers of paint thickly covered the once-intricate moldings inside the carousel building. The ramp in the center of the room was tagged by local spray-paint artists and covered with band stickers and ballpoint pen scrawlings. And there were the boys. 

“Celaena Sardothien, you remember me, right?” Nox chuckled. He had hair black as night, like his name suggests. 

“I think you tried to fight me in fifth grade.”

He laughed again. “Right. Right. I forgot about that. You’re not still mad?”

“No,” she said, really emphasizing the  _ tried _ . She had never been bested in a fight, even at such a young age. But quickly her blithe mood was gone, leaving her drained and anxious. Nehemia climbed on top of the skateboard ramp to where Chaol was sitting, a captain overseeing his soldiers, watching the proceedings. Handsome, with brown hair and light golden-brown eyes. He held up a nearly full bottle of tequila in greeting.

Sartaq handed Celaena the bottle he was drinking from, making a mock throwing motion as he did so. A little splashed on the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Bourbon. Expensive shit.”

She forced a smile as she took it. Sartaq leaned down to take out a brownie that smelled suspiciously of weed. Even hunched over, he was a big guy. His long, black hair was just as long as her own.

“I brought you some candy,” Nehemia said to Chaol. She had M&Ms and Sour Patch Kids. 

“I brought you some candy,” Nox mocked in a high, squeaky voice, jumping on the ramp. “Give it here,” he said.

Celaena walked around the room. It was magnificent, old and decayed and fine. She savored the slow burn of bourbon down her throat, it was the sort of thing a man who smoked cigars and was on his third marriage might drink.

“What flavor of white are you?” Sartaq asked. He had already devoured half the brownie in one bite, and by the second bite it was all gone. He licked the tips of his fingers, as if trying to eat every last crumb.

She took another swallow from the bottle and tried to ignore him.

“Celaena! You hear me?”

“My mom was from Wendlyn.”

“Man, have you heard the way they talk over there? It’s almost like they’re born with sticks up their ass. You ever had an accent? Were you born with a stick up your ass?”

“Shut up dickwad,” Nehemia said, laughing. “She went to elementary school with Nox and me. Neither of us have accents so why would she.”

Nehemia didn’t comment on the stick-up-Celaena’s-ass part.

Chaol looped one finger through the belt rings of Nehemiah’s jeans and pulled her over to kiss her.

Celaena took another long sip of bourbon. Her head was already buzzing pleasantly, humming in time with imagined merry-go-round music. She moved farther back into the dim room, to where old placards announced popcorn and peanuts for five cents apiece.

Against the far wall was a black, weathered door. It opened jerkily when she pushed it. Moonlight from the windows in the main room revealed only an office with an old desk and a work board with yellowed menus still pinned to it. She stepped inside, even though the light switch didn’t work. Feeling the blackness, she found a knob. This door led to a stairwell with only a little light drifting down from the top. She took the lighter out from her pocket, and made her way up the stairs, driven only by the small, orange flame. 

At the top was a small window lit brightly by the murderess moon, ripe and huge in the sky. Interesting boxes were stacked in the corners. Then her eyes fell on the dragon, and she forgot the rest. He was unlike any of the mystical creatures she had seen in the carousel below. He was something from legends. He was magnificent — gleaming a vibrant crimson despite its age and covered with tiny pieces of glued-down mirror. His face was painted with blue and green and gold, like something out of a fantasy novel. There were no dragons on the carousel below, making it all the more unique. It was obvious why he’d been left behind — his wings had been shattered. Splinters hung down from where his wings used to be.

_ Sam would’ve loved this.  _ She had thought that many times since she had left Orynth, seven years ago.  _ My imaginary friends would’ve loved this.  _ She’d thought it the first time that she’d seen Perranth, lit up like never-ending Christmas. But they never came when she was in Rifthold. And now she was seventeen and felt like she had no imagination left.

She tried to set the dragon up as if it were standing on its slightly cracked legs. It wobbled unsteadily but didn’t fall. Celaena pulled off her coat and dropped it on the floor, setting the bourbon next to it. She swung one leg over the beast and dropped onto its saddle, using her feet to keep in from falling. She ran her hands over its scales, all of which had an iridescent sheen. She touched the painted black eyes and chipped nose. 

In her mind, the red dragon’s wings were restored, and she hoovered steadily on it above the ground. The scales were cool in her hands, and the great bulk of the animal was real and warm beneath her. Celaena imagined the dragon breathing out a steady stream of fire. She threw back her head and laughed.

“Celaena?” A soft voice snapped her out of her daydream. Chaol was standing near the stairs, regarding her blankly. For a moment, though, she felt as if she could conquer the world. But then reality set back in, and she was embraced at the state in which Chaol found her.

Caught in the half-light, she could see him better than she had downstairs. His short, chestnut hair was mussed like he had just run his hands through it and had a slight wave. Under his jacket, the too-tight white T-shirt showed the easy muscles of someone who didn’t have to fight to live, but someone who fought for fun.

He moved towards her, reaching his hand out and then looking at it oddly, as though he didn’t remember deciding to do that. Instead, he petted the head of the dragon, slowly, almost hypnotically.

“I saw you,” he said. “I saw what you did.”

“Where’s Nehemia?” Celaena wasn’t sure what he meant. She would have thought he was teasing her except for his serious face, his slow way of speaking.

He was running his hands down the beast’s back now. “She was worried about you.” His hand fascinated her despite herself. “How did you make it do that?”

“Do what?” She was afraid now, afraid and flattered both. There was no mocking or teasing in his face. He was watching her so intensely that he seemed drained of expression.

“I saw it hovering. I saw it breathing out fire.” He dipped his head to whisper in her ear, his stubble brushing roughly against the side of her face. He stroked his hand down her back, and she flinched.

They were close enough to share breath, and the brush of his hand against her scars brought her out of her trance. She was paralyzed for a moment before she sprang up, letting the dragon fall as she did. It crashed down, knocking the bottle of bourbon over, dark liquor pouring over her coat and soaking the bottoms of the dusty boxes like the tide coming in at night.

He grabbed for her before she could think, his hand catching hold of the back of her shirt. She stepped back, off-balance, and fell, her shirt ripping open down her back even as he let go of it.

Shoes pounded up the stairs.

“What the fuck?” Sartaq was at the top of the stairwell with Nox, trying to shove his way in for a look. 

Chaol shook his head and looked around numbly while Celaena scrambled for her bourbon-soaked coat, not wanting them to see the array of scars adorning her back.

The boys moved out of the way, and Nehemia was there, too, staring.

“What happened?” Nehemia asked, looking between them in confusion. Celaena pushed past her, shoving her hands through the sleeves of her jacket.

“Celaena!” Nehemia called after her.

Celaena ignored her, taking the stairs two at a time in the dark. There was nothing she could say that would explain what had happened. 

She could hear Nehemia shouting. “What did you do to her? What the fuck did you do?”

Celaena ran across the carousel hall and swung her leg over the sill. The glass she had carefully avoided earlier slashed a thin line on the outside of her thigh as she dropped among the soil and weeds.

The cold wind felt good against her hot face.

**********

Dorian Havilliard was slouched down in his computer chair, having a staring contest with the stack of papers on his nightstand that seemed to mock him. Each time his mother barged into his room with yet another college brochure, she had this dazed and hopeful look that made Dorian want to hit her. She couldn’t comprehend that being a motherfucking genius wasn’t enough. You needed to be a rich motherfucking genius to go to colleges like those. She insisted he apply for scholarships, but they didn’t give out scholarships to kids like him — even though he was damn well smart enough for one.

He took the flyers in his hands, scattered them across the room, picked up his fraying hoodie sitting on the floor near his bookshelf, and made for the door. 

“Did you look into any of those schools, honey?” His mother was in the kitchen, cooking what looked like instant Mac and Cheese for him and Nehemia — that is, if Nehemia ever decided to come home instead of slumming it with his former best friend. “You staying for dinner?”

“I got to get to work.” He said through gritted teeth. He walked past The Husband, who was stooped over, getting a fancy craft beer from the fridge.  _ Only the best for my king  _ Dorian had heard his mother say on multiple occasions. In all honesty, Dorian had absolutely no idea what his name was, and he was pretty sure his mother didn’t either — even though they were married. He opened the screen door and went outside.

The cool, October air was a relief from the recirculated cigarette smoke.

Dorian loved his car. It was a dark blue Honda SUV that could easily be classified as a “mom car”. When he wasn’t hypothetically picking up his kids from soccer practice, the mom mobile served as an excellent place to stay the night. He kept all the seats down in the back, laid a blanket and some pillows down, and it was a somewhat comfortable makeshift bed. It was easy to fall asleep there, escaping the chaos of his household for the night. He could pretend he was like one of his favorite book characters: he had his shit together and was surrounded by people who loved him. Fat fucking chance. The notion was laughable. But now was not the time for day dreams; he had to go to work.

Everyday for the last three weeks, he had left a little earlier for work. He would go to the convenience store and buy some food. Tonight, he bought a cup of coffee and black licorice. He lingered over a paperback with an embossed metallic dragon on the cover, reading the first few sentences, hoping something would interest him. Despite having piles of unread books in his room, he was always lusting after something new and fresh; something he could not always have. He sipped his coffee and almost spat it out. Too sweet. He sipped at it some more, forcing himself to acclimate to the taste. Disgusting. 

Dorian got out of his car and chucked the full cup of coffee into the parking lot. It splashed satisfactory on the asphalt. He went inside and poured himself another cup. He took another look at the book and slipped it into the large front pocket of his hoodie.

As he walked back towards his car, a matronly woman with frizzy red hair passed by him, looked him over and pointed to the book in his pocket. “Did you get it for a good price? I heard they were having a sale.”

“I wish,” Dorian replied, closing his car door behind him. “I wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I revised this chapter so many times and I still don’t love it asdfghjkl. Dorians pov was so hard for me and I changed the interaction between Celaena and Chaol like five times but alas this chapter was a lot of exposition and plot building. Also the mom mobile is based off of my own dark blue honda suv that is often called the mom car lol.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I’m always open to constructive criticism, leave any you have below!


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, plot belongs to Holly Black and characters belong to SJMaas.

The wind whipped tiny pebbles of rain across Celaena’s face. The droplets froze her hands, making her shiver as they slid down her wet hair and under the collar of her coat. She walked, trudging through the scattered trash that had accumulated on the side of the highway. She kicked a pile of soda cans and watched a plastic bag tumble down the road and into the river. On one side of the highway was the river, and on the other, there was a long stretch of woods that led to a gas station. She was over halfway home.

Cars hissed over the asphalt. The sound was comforting, like a long sigh.

_ I saw you. I saw what you did. _

Something akin to rage twisted in her gut. She was seething. She hadn’t felt rage like this since her last fight in the pits. She wanted to hit someone or smash something. Maybe light something on fire for good measure.

How could she have done anything? When she tried to make a book page turn on its own or turn the lights off without flipping the switch, it never worked. How could she have made Chaol see a broken winged dragon fly? Let alone breathe fire?

Never mind that she might as well assume that Sam and Gavriel and Lysandra  _ had _ been imaginary. She’d been home for two weeks, and there was no sign of them, no matter how many times she called them, no matter how many times she went down to the old creek.

She took a deep breath, snorting rain up her nose. It reminded her of crying — or at least what she remembered crying felt like; she hadn’t allowed herself to cry in seven years.

She knew what her uncle would say when she got back, stinking of liquor and a torn shirt. True things.

The same things that Nehemia would say tomorrow. There was no way to explain what had happened without admitting to something. His face that close to hers, close enough to exchange breath, was what Nehemia would really care about — that, and she had let him remain there, even if only for a moment. And she could imagine what he was telling Nehemia now — flushed, angry, and drunk — but even a badly managed lie would sound better than the truth.

_ I saw it hovering. I saw it breathing out fire. _

But even if he didn’t go that far, who would believe that he ripped her shirt on accident? No, he must have told an entirely different story. So what was Celaena supposed to say when Nehemia asked what happened? She wouldn’t tell her about the scars, not until she was ready. But Nehemia already thought she was a liar.

Another gust of rain stung her cheeks, this one bringing a shout with it from the direction of the woods. The noise was brief, but eloquent with pain. Celaena stopped abruptly. There was no sound except the rain, hissing like radio static.

Then, just as a truck sped past, kicking up a chorus of drizzle, she heard another sound. Softer, this one, maybe a moan bitten off at the end. It was just inside the edge of the forest. 

Celaena moved down the slight slope, off the short grass and into the woods. She ducked under the dripping branches of an elm, stepping on tufts of short ferns and looping briars. Weeds brushed across her calves leaving strokes of rain. The storm-bright sky lit the woods with silver. An earthly, sweet odor of rot arose where she disturbed the carpet of leaves. 

There was no one there.

She half turned toward the highway. She could still see the road where she was standing. What was she doing? The sound must have carried over from the houses that ran along the back of the woods. No one else would be dumb enough to go traipsing through wet, dripping woods in the middle of the night.

Celaena walked back up to the road, picking her way through spots that looked somewhat drier than others. Burrs had collected along her stockings, and she bent down to pull them off.

“Stay where you are.” She jumped at the voice. The accent was lilting and melodic, it reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t remember who.

A man was sprawled in the mud, only a few steps from her, clutching a curved sword in one hand. It reflected moonlight in the hazy dark. Short, silver hair framed his face, on which was a wicked tattoo that stretched all the way down his neck, disappearing into the white armor he wore, now stained brown from the dirt and blood. His other hand was at his heart, clutching a branch that jutted from his chest. The rain there was tinted pink with blood.

“Was it you, girl?” He was breathing raggedly.

Celaena wasn’t sure what he meant, but she shook her head. He didn’t look much older than she was. Certainly not old enough to call her “girl.”

“So you haven’t come to finish me off?”

She shook her head again. He was long-limbed and broad shouldered — he would be tall if he were standing. Taller than most people, taller than any faerie she had ever seen — still, she had no doubt that was what he was, if for no other reason than the pointed tops of his ears. He was beautiful in such a way that made her breath catch.

He licked his lips. There was blood on them. “Pity,” he said quietly.

She took a step toward him, and he twisted into a defensive crouch. Wounded as he was, he still moved swiftly. His eyes, green as the pine trees surrounding them, studied her intently. 

“You’re a faerie, aren’t you?” She said soothingly, holding her hands where he could see them. 

He stayed still, and she took another half step toward him, holding out one hand to coax him as if he were some fascinating, dangerous animal. “Let me help you.” Years of experience tending her own wounds would be very helpful to the fae male before her.

His body was trembling with concentration. His eyes never flickered from her face. He had the hilt of his sword in a while-knuckled grip.

She did not dare take another step. “You’re going to bleed to death,” she said, as if it wasn’t painstakingly obvious.

They stayed like that a few more minutes before he slumped down to one knee in the mud. He bent forward, fingers out clutching the leaves, and spat red. 

She took two steps and knelt down next to him, bracing herself with shaking hands. This close, she could see that his armor was stiff leather sculpted to look like feathers, almost like a hawk.

“I cannot draw the arrow myself,” he said softly. “They are waiting for me to bleed a little more before they come against my blade.”

“Who’s waiting?” It was hard to understand that someone had shot him with a tree branch, but that seemed to be what he was saying.

“If you would help me, draw this arrow.” His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. “If not, then push it in as deep as you can and hope it kills me.”

“It will bleed more,” Celaena deadpanned.

He laughed at that, a bitter sound. “Either way, no doubt.”

She could see the despair in his face. He obviously believed her to be part of some plan to kill him. If she had been sent to kill him, he’d already be dead. Still, he slid his body back until he could lean against the trunk of an oak. He was braced, waiting to see what she would do.

Her fingers flinched away from the wound in his chest. There was so much blood — so much. Suddenly all she could see was red: red like the permanent stain of blood in the pits, red like the color of Arobynn’s hair as he beat her, red like the blood that followed down her back and wouldn’t stop and wouldn’t stop and wouldn’t— “I can’t do it.”

His voice stayed soft, “What do they call you?”

“Celaena,” she said.

“I’m Rowan.” Faeries didn’t give up their names easily, even part of their names, although she had no idea why. He was trying to show that he trusted her, maybe trying to make up for the assumptions he had made about her. “Give me your hand.”

She let him take her hand in his and guide it to the branch. His hand closed over hers, both of the chilled and wet, his fingers inhumanly long and rough with calluses; a warrior’s hands. “Just close your hand on it and let me pull,” he said. “You don’t even have to look. As long as I’m not touching it, I might be able to draw it out.”

That shamed her. She had told him that she wanted to help him, he was in a whole lot of pain, and it was no time for her to be squeamish. She needed no one's help. She was Celaena Sardothien, and she would not be afraid. “I can do it myself,” she said.

Rowan let go of her hand, and she gave a sharp tug. Although his face constricted with pain, the branch only pulled out a short way.

Were there really other folk in the trees, waiting for him to be weak enough to defeat? Celaena thought that if so, now was a great time for them to come down and have a go at it.

“Again, Celaena.”

She took note of the angle of the armor this time, changing her position so that the branch couldn’t catch on one of the plates. She raised herself to one knee, braced, and then stood, pulling upward as hard as she could.

Rowan gave a harsh cry as the branch slid free of his chest, its iron top black with blood. His fingers touched the wound and he raised them, slick with blood, as if suddenly disbelieving that he had been shot.

Celaena tossed the stick away from her. “We have to stop the bleeding. How does your armor come off?”

He seemed not to understand her at first. He just looked at her with a kind of incredulity. Then he leaned forward with a groan. “Straps,” he managed.

She came and sat behind him, feeling over the smooth armor for buckles.

A sudden wind shook the branches above, raining an extra show of heavy droplets down on them, and Celaena wondered again about the faeries in the trees. Her fingers fumbled in her haste. If those faeries were still afraid of Rowan, they didn’t have to worry for much longer — she was betting that it would be only a few more minutes before he passed out entirely 

To get off his breastplate, she not only had to detach it from the backplate at his shoulders and sides — there were also straps that connected it to the shoulder plates and to his legplates. Finally, she managed to peel it off his chest. Underneath, the tanned skin was mottled with blood.

He tipped back his head and closed his eyes. “Let the rain clean it.”

She pulled off her coat and hung it on one of the branches of the tree. Her shirt was ripped already, she reminded herself as she took it off. She tore it into long strips and began winding them around Rowan’s chest and arms. He opened his eyes when she touched them. His eyes narrowed, then widened. Their color was mesmerizing.

He straightened up, horrified. “I didn’t even hear you rip the cloth.”

“You have to try and stay awake.” Celaena’s cheeks felt so warm that the cold rain actually felt good against them. “Is there somewhere you can go?”

He shook his head. “I am in your debt. I mislike not knowing how I must repay it.”

“I have questions…”

“I will answer three, as full and well as within my power,” he said. “Were I you, I would stay clear of faeries in the future. We are a capricious people, with little regard for mortals.”

She looked at him again. “Why?”

His smile deepened, wiping the weariness from his face. “Don’t waste your questions.” 

His eyes glittered. Then there was a flash of light — where Rowan once stood there was now a white hawk, flapping its wings and taking off into the storming night sky. Moonlight glowed across its wings.

She knelt and picked up the branch with its iron tip. Her finger ran up the rough bark, and touched the too-warm metal. A shudder went through her, and she dropped it back in the mud. The woods were suddenly menacing, and she walked quickly as she could back towards the road. If she started running, she didn’t think she’d be able to stop

Once Celaena reached her uncle’s house, soon to be her own, she tried to open the rusted gate as quietly as possible. No such luck. It let out a screech that rivaled the sound of thunder cracking in the distance.

All the lights in the house were off, making it look more like a haunted house than her home. She opened the front door and closed it silently behind her. No need in waking her uncle up; she assumed he was already fast asleep. She walked into the living room.

And sitting on the couch, completely in the dark and taking small sips of something she could only assume to be bourbon, was her uncle Darrow. Hearing her approach, he set his glass down, stood up from the couch, and gave her a once over disapproving look.

“You think I didn’t know you were gone? Sneaking off with those juvenile delinquent friends of yours. It is almost one in the morning! I know you’re used to galavanting around Rifthold whenever you want, but when you live in my house you live by my rules.”

“Leave me the fuck alone.” Celaena snapped before he could get any more words out

“You think I don’t know anything. Okay, you’re the smart one right?” He said in that too-sweet voice he only used when he was mocking her. “If you’re so smart, then how come you're all alone? How come you up and left your life in Rifthold, and came crawling back to the one place you are not wanted. You’re going to turn out like your dead mother and—“

“I wouldn't finish that if I were you.” She snarled. She could take any beating, any punishment, any harsh words, but the mention of her parents was her breaking point. “You think I’m just a spoiled princess, but you have  _ no fucking idea _ what I’ve sacrificed the past seven years. Not a damn clue what I was forced to suffer through, what I’ve lost. You think you’re all high and mighty treating me like an incompetent piece of shit, well guess what? I remember. I remember seven years ago when my parents died and I was left in your care. I remember when you let them take me away from Aedion, the last living family member I had left _. _ I remember being ripped away from my home and dropped into the arms of an abuser. I remember when you  _ didn’t want me.  _ And don’t you think for a damn second I will  _ ever _ forget.”

She didn’t look to see his response. She turned on her heel and left him standing there with only his thoughts to keep him company.

**********

Lying on her bed, Celaena Sardothien let herself think of him, just this once. She let herself think of the solemn way he had spoken to her, with an lilting accent she still couldn’t place. She let herself think of his flashing green eyes and crooked smile.

Then she stopped. She refused to let herself want to want someone she would never have.

Celaena closed her eyes, letting the sound of rain lull her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s the #PublishingPaidMe trend going around on twitter right now, and I learned that when Holly Black wrote Tithe in 2002 (the book that this is 95% based on), SHE ONLY GOT 5K. THAT IS A CRIME! I HATE IT HERE! THE AUDACITY!
> 
> Drop a comment below and any other feedback you might have :) thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot belongs to Holly Black and Characters belong to SJMaas with a lil of my own spice added in :)

Celaena was standing in the river clutching a Barbie doll by its blond hair, the cool water tickling her toes. Heat beat down on her back, and she could smell grass and the rich mud of summer. She was nine.

It made perfect dream sense, even though she knew that is hadn’t happened quite this way. The warm green memory was younger than nine. But in this patchwork dream, Sam sat on the carpet of moss that ran along the bank, sitting next to Celaena and soaking up the sizzling summer sun. One second Lysandra was holding a Ken doll in her hand, and the next she had shifted to a doll size and was holding the Ken doll by the hands and spinning in a circle, singing:

“I’m a Barbie Girl in a Barbie world!”

Gavriel stood silently behind Celaena. Laughing at Lysandra’s antics, she turned to him — he made to speak, but the only thing that dropped from his mouth was a single red stone. It splashed into the river, settling along the bottom along with the other rocks, shining with a strange light.

“Life in plastic, it’s fantastic!”

A caw made Celaena look up suddenly. A hawk had settled in the tree, feathers as white as snow. When the hawk cocked its head down at her, its eyes were completely black. Suddenly, Lys stopped spinning and was looking at the Ken doll with an emotion Celaena couldn’t place.

“ _ Celaena _ , have you ever wondered what it’s like to be a doll? To be nothing but a pretty face to look at?”

When Lys said Celaena’s name, her mouth wasn’t forming the word  _ Celaena;  _ it looked as if she were saying a different name entirely. Celaena couldn’t make out the name on her lips. When Lysandra said  _ Celaena _ , it sounded distorted, like someone was speaking into the fast moving blades of a standing fan.

The hawk shifted its claws along the branch, then dropped into the air. A moment later, Celaena felt the scrape of claws along her wrist and the bite of its beak on her hand as her doll was pulled into the air.

She screamed with a shrill, childish hysteria and reached down to throw something at the bird. Her hand closed on a stone, and she hurled it without thinking.

The hawk spiraled into the cushion of trees, and Celaena ran toward it. The forest around her blurred, and she was suddenly looking down at the white shape. It was still, feathers ruffling slightly in the breeze. Her doll was there too, lying apart from the dead bird, and between them was a smooth red stone. The stone that Gavriel had spoken.

And then she woke up

**********

Celaena was pulled out of her dream by the shrill sound of her phone ringing. She blinked through eyes crusted with day-old makeup. She opened her eyes and was greeted by the sun, glowing with fury at the night’s trickery at the hands of Mistress Moon. The lemony light threatened her with a headache.

Celaena reached blindly for the phone on her nightstand and picked it up — Nehemia’s name written across the screen. “Hello?” Her voice was rough, thick with phlegm.

“What happened last night?” It took Celaena a few moments to understand what Nehemia was asking.

“Oh. Nothing. Chaol tried to catch me, and my shirt ripped.”

“Celaena! How come you ran out like that? I thought he’d done something terrible to you! We were fighting all night about it.”

“I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Celaena said flatly.

Celaena must have made Nehemia feel guilty because her tone softened. “Come on, Celaena. Of course I believe you.”

Celaena struggled for what to say to the unexpected reprieve. “Are you okay?” Nehemia asked.

“I met someone on the way home last night.” Celaena sat up in bed, realizing she’d gone to bed with her bra, skirt, and stockings still on. No wonder she felt uncomfortable.

“You did?” Nehemia sounded surprised and almost skeptical. “A boy?”

“Yeah,” Celaena said. She wanted to say it aloud, to hold on to it. Already her recollection of Rowan was blanched by the sun, the way a dream fades when you don’t write it down. “He had green eyes and silver hair.”

“Dyed?”

“No. It’s definitely natural,” Celaena said. She wrapped her dark green comforter more tightly around her.

“Weird. What’s his name?”

“Ronan,” Celaena said, a little smile on her face. She was glad Nehemia couldn’t see her right now — she was sure she looked idiotically happy.

“Like Ronan from The Raven Cycle? What did he do, dream you up something good? Did he hit on you?”

“We just talked,” Celaena said.

Nehemia sighed. “You didn’t meet anyone, did you? You’re making this up.”

“He’s real,” Celaena said. He  _ was  _ real, the most real person she had met in a long time. Hyper real.

“The party sucked anyway,” Nehemia said. “I almost kicked this girl’s ass. Nox kept telling me to chill, but I was too wasted and upset. Well, come over and I’ll tell you the rest.”

“Sure, okay. I’ve gotta get dressed.”

“Okay, bye.” The phone clicked as Nehemia hung up. Celaena turned it off and dropped it on the comforter.

_ I have to find Lysandra and Sam.  _ She hadn’t ever needed to call them before. They’d always been around when she had needed them. But that was when she had been little, when she believed in everything, when she thought the world was good. Celaena sighed. She could hardly be classified as really unicorn-pure anymore, not after everything she’s done. Maybe that kind of thing mattered.

Celaena stripped out of her clothes and found a pair of mom jeans and a cropped blue hoodie. In the bathroom, as she splashed cold water on her face and rubbed off last night’s makeup, she inspected herself. The red dye she’d combed through her hair was already faded. She tried not to look at her eyes; they always brought back unwanted memories from a happier time. She didn’t deserve to be happy.

She sighed and pulled her hair up into ragged pigtails. Hey, if she looked ten again, maybe kid-loving faeries would come and talk to her.

She went downstairs and wrote a note to her uncle letting him know where she’d gone.

_ I’m out with my “ _ juvenile delinquent friends”  _ as you like to say. Don’t wait up. _

As she left the house, she wondered why she even bothered. Her uncle could hardly even remember her name.

The wind was blowing gusts of vivid, lipstick-colored leaves across the lawn. Celaena took a deep breath of cold air.

“Lysandra,” she whispered into the winds. “Gavriel, Sam… please come back. I need you.”

_ I’ll just walk over to Nehemia’s. I’ll just go over to Nehemia’s like I said then I’ll figure out a plan. _

Nehemia lived in the suburbs of Orynth —the land of cookie-cutter houses filled with nuclear families. The Havilliard’s were the exception: Nehemia was adopted (by racist white people), The Husband (what is his name?) was a CEO with a nasty superiority complex, Georgina was a PTA mom that had noodles for brains (or a drinking problem), and Dorian was the Golden Child (who hardly ever went to school and stole books on the side, not that his parents knew that). 

Laying in the back of his car with the trunk popped open was Dorian, reading a book with a metallic dragon on the cover. Celaena waved to him as she walked up the driveway. 

Dorian smiled grudgingly. His hair was black and had the typical white fuckboy hairstyle. His eyes were a sapphire blue that rivaled even the cleanest parts of the Florine. He had grown from the 11 year old with gangly limbs she remembered to a handsome young man that had finally filled out his frame. 

Celaena came to the front door and banged on it.

“Come on in,” Nehemia called. 

When she came in through the foyer, Celaena saw Nehemia’s feet flung over the edge of the faux-leather couch, toes dark with polish. The toes in question had wads of toilet paper stuffed between them so they couldn’t quite touch. On the TV screen, two women were screaming at one another in front of a studio audience. One of the women had rhinestone eyebrows.

“Want to do your nails?” Nehemia asked. “I have a cool blue.”

Celaena shook her head, although Nehemia probably didn’t see her do it. “Can I make some coffee?”

“Sure, make me some too.” Nehemia stretched, pointing her shiny maroon toes as she arched her back. She was wearing an oversized men’s t-shirt and a pair of Nike Pros. “I am totally hungover.”

“Where’s everybody?”

“Georgina and The Husband are at Target. Dorian is off god knows where probably crying about how “hard” his life is.” Nehemia and Dorian’s relationship was unstable to say the least. They had been thick as thieves when Celaena was young —but then Chaol moved into town. Dorian stopped hanging out with Nehemia and became attached at the hip with Chaol. No matter what she did, Nehemia could never be a part of the “boys club.” 

Nehemia had always been bitter about Chaol taking away her brother, so about a year ago Nehemia tried to “seduce” Chaol to get back at Dorian for abandoning her — but it backfired. 

When Nehemia and Chaol got together, Dorian was genuinely happy for then. Then, when things finally went back to the way they used to be, Nehemia told Dorian that she had originally gotten together with Chaol to get back at him; Dorian didn’t take it well. It turned into a full on screaming war where Dorian was calling Nehemia things like _ soulless whore, _ even though Nehemia tried to tell him that she had genuine feelings for Chaol now, and that they were reciprocated. Dorian tried to confront Chaol, but he didn’t believe him, accusing Dorian of only wanting to break them apart because his parents would never accept him for being gay. Needless to say, things have been tense ever since. “I saw Dorian sitting in his car when I walked over. I don’t think he recognized me.”

“He’s an asshole. All he does is sit in his room and jerk off. He’s probably gone nearsighted.”

Celaena took a Starbucks K-cup and put in the Keurig, placing a mug underneath. “Maybe I just don’t look the way I did when I was ten.” She closed the lid and let it brew.

“I guess.” Nehemia flipped through the channel and stopped on MTV.

“So what happened last night?” Celaena knew that it would please Nehemia if she asked.

Nehemia did, in fact, pull herself into a sitting position, and she turned down the sound on the TV. “Well, when we got to Nesryn’s place, Yrene was, like, playing with Chaol’s hair, rubbing her hands all over it and saying how soft it was. She must have known we were fighting.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool.” Nehemia pressed a pillow to her chest. “So anyway I go up to her and start rubbing my hands through her hair and telling her how nice it felt, really going to town, and Sartaq starts laughing. You know, that weird, rumbling Buddha-belly laugh he has. So fucking loud.”

“What did Chaol do?

“Nothing; he loves girls fighting over him.” Nehemia shook her head as if she were talking about an incorrigible child. “So she starts calling me psycho and dyke, not backing down at all, saying that she was just talking.”

Celaena nodded. “Did you hit her?” The first coffee finished, so she repeated the steps to make another.

Nehemia nodded. “I totally went after her, but Nox stopped me and Chaol stopped her and Nesryn came over and started saying how it was a big misunderstanding and all that, even though she didn’t see what happened because she was too busy in the corner sucking off Sartaq’s face. She just didn’t want her house to get fucked up.”

Looking down into the cup, she saw the dark, still water of the river. Her heart was suddenly beating triple-time even though nothing at all was happening. Rowan — the most cool, amazing, dangerous storybook guy ever — said he was going to see her again. Glee made Celaena’s chest hurt.

“Are you listening to me?” Nehemia asked.

“Here’s your coffee,” Celaena said, stirring sugar and powdered cream into Nehemia’s before handing it to her. “I’m listening.”

Celaena smiled and nodded as Nehemia spoke, but she still saw Rowan in her mind’s eye, drenched with rain and blood, shot nearly through the heart with a gnarled arrow.

The front door slammed open and Dorian opened the door and stomped into the foyer. He glared at both of them, stalked to the refrigerator, opened it, and then swigged Mountain Dew out of the bottle.

“What’s up your ass?” Nehemia said.

Dorian didn’t respond.

“Georgina hates it when you drink out of the bottle.”

“So what?” Dorian said. He took another deliberate swig. “You going to tell her about that? How about I tell her how you need your own Roman vomitorium, you fucking bulimic.”

“Shut up, fuckfist.” Nehemia picked her cellphone and started rapidly punching in numbers. She walked toward her bedroom as she dialed. 

Dorian glanced at Celaena. “You’re the girl that believes in faeries, right?” Dorian said.

Celaena shrugged. “I’m Celaena.”

“Want some soda? I didn’t backwash into it.” He wiped the side of his sleeve against his mouth.

Celaena shook her head. Something — like a small stone — bounced off her knee.

The windows were closed. Celaena looked at the ceiling, but there were no small parts hanging off the overhead light. Maybe something from a shelf. When she looked down at the floor near her feet, the only object she saw was an acorn. They were abundant outside this time of year, scattering from the nearby tree all over the lawn. She picked it up and looked toward the window again. Maybe it was open after all. The acorn was light in her hand, and she noticed a tiny strip of white sticking out from under the cap.

Dorian was dampening a towel and wiping off his face. She didn’t think he’d thrown the acorn — she’d been talking to him when she’d felt it hit.

Celaena pulled lightly on the acorn cap, and it came loose. Inside the nutshell, all the meat was gone, leaving an empty space where a slip of paper was coiled. Celaena removed it carefully and reread the message written in pinkish red ink: “Do not talk to the white knight anymore, tell no one your name, everything is danger. Sam is gone. We need your help, meet you tomorrow night. G&L”

What did it mean, Sam is gone? Gone where? And the white knight? Could that be Rowan? She hadn’t been talking to anyone else that fit that description. What did it mean, that everything was danger?

“Celaena,” Nehemia said, leaning out of her bedroom, “you want to go to the mall?”

Celaena fumbled to tuck the acorn into her pocket.

“I suppose that you are expecting me to drive you,” Dorian said. “Unless you wanted to walk like a bunch of gremlins.”

“Shut up, pretty boy,” Nehemia said, and ushered Celaena into her bedroom.

Celaena sat down on Nehemia’s bed. Nehemia’s room looked like it was straight out of an ikea catalogue. The walls were painted a muted purple color, and every piece of furniture had the same dark wooden color. The room was messy, with clothes hanging out of open drawers and littering the floor, but with the disarray seemed glamorous here. Nehemia had red skirts with feather fringe, and shirts that shimmered blue and gold like fish scales. Eyeshadow palettes, body sprays, and piles of hair products covered her vanity and the top of her dresser. On the wall, posters of bands competed with messages written in multi-colored markers on the walls.  _ nehemia + chaol ftw _ was written in glitter on the back of Nehemia’s door. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw traces of some other name underneath Chaol’s.

“What should I wear?” Nehemia held up a pink, fuzzy half-of-a-half sweater that came to just under her breasts. “Will I freeze?”

“A hoe never gets cold.” 

Nehemia grinned and nodded.

Celaena sat on the bed and leaned back against the pillows. In the pocket of her jacket, the acorn still lay against the hot flesh of her palm, the tiny point indenting her thumb.

“What are you going to wear?”

“This.” Celaena indicated her faded hoodie and jeans with a sweep of her hand.

Nehemia sighed and made a face. “Do you know how many girls would kill to have a body like yours? And to have naturally blond hair?”

Celaena didn’t respond. She knew how beautiful she was; she had used her beauty as a weapon in the past. When she left Rifthold, she vowed she would never do that again, even if it meant wearing baggy clothes the rest of her life. She would not let herself be the person she was then.

“How about you wear this?” Nehemia held up a shiny black shirt that had no back at all. It tied around the neck and waist like a bikini.

“No way,” Celaena responded, ending the discussion.

**********

They walked into the mall through the movie theater entrance. Boys and girls were gathered in packs on the steps, waiting for rides or having a cigarette before their movie started. Nehemia walked past them like a goddess, not looking at anybody, perfectly styled hair and glistening lip gloss looking as though it was effortless for her. 

Celaena used to look like that once. Never again.

They walked around the mall and did quite a bit of window shopping. Eventually, they found Forever 21. Celaena started grinning and looked over to Nehemia who was grinning right back.

Every time they went to the mall, they played a game called the  _ ugliest outfit challenge.  _ You had five minutes to go through the store and assemble the ugliest outfit possible for the other person. Whoever created the ugliest outfit (usually determined by an instagram poll) won nothing but bragging rights. It was enough; Celaena needed something to burn off her competitive energy.

Nehemia counted down from three, and started the timer. They took off, not a second to be wasted. 

Five minutes later, they met outside the dressing room and exchanged outfits. For Celaena, Nehemia picked out a Hot Cheetos bodysuit tucked into black jeans that would hardly be called so because of the amount of rips in them. Next came a blue baseball hat that said “Taco Tuesday!” on it. The shoes were neon green knock off converse.

For Nehemia, Celaena picked out a highlighter green cap sleeve shirt and silver holographic biker shorts. Next came a leopard print fedora hat and zebra print high heels.

Once they changed into their respective outfits, they busted out laughing. They looked absolutely ridiculous. 

Celaena took a full body picture of the both of them and posted it on her instagram story with a poll asking “whose outfit is uglier?”

Now they just had to wait for the results to come in.

The employees started eyeing them warily, and they knew that was code for “change back into your clothes and get the fuck out.”

Once they left the store, they collapsed into a fit of giggles. It felt nice to act like a normal teenager for once.

**********

A few hours later, they were back at Nehemia’s place sitting in the spacious backyard. Nehemia was trying a new eyeliner she bought, lining her eyelids. Celaena was drinking a raspberry smoothie.

Celaena pulled out her phone to check the poll. Nehemia was in the lead with 58% thinking her outfit for Celaena was ugliest. Celaena let out a sigh.

“Looks like you won this time. Savor it because trust me, it won't happen again.”

“Kiss my ass, Sardothien,” Nehemia replied smugly.

Celaena rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her grin. She dug through her jeans for matches and lit a cigarette. Taking a deep smoke, she leaned back and exhaled, letting the smoke whorl up and away. She reached up lazily to change the pattern. It shifted at the touch of her finger, and she could see figures dancing in it — no, they weren’t dancing, they were fighting. Swordsmen dueling in the rising smoke.

“It’s weird, you know. Us being friends after all this time and you being so far away and all. I’ve been thinking about last night.”

“Yeah?” Celaena asked warily.

“He was hitting on you, wasn’t he?”

Celaena shrugged. There was no way to explain what really happened. She certainly couldn’t have explained why she’d let his face close enough to kiss, why she hadn’t minded in the least until she’d suddenly remembered who they were and what was really happening. “A little, I guess. But I honestly fell. I guess I drank too much or something.”

“How come you were up there in the first place?”

Celaena grinned easily now. “Just exploring. There was the most outrageously cool dragon for the carousel. Did you see it? The wings were broken but the rest of it was perfect — the paint wasn’t even badly faded.” She sighed wistfully. “Even if I had some way to bring that thing home, there is no way my uncle would let it in the house.”

Nehemia sighed. It was obvious this was the sort of reason she could easily believe.

Celaena took another drag on her cigarette, wondering why that made her angry. This time, the tendrils of smoke reminded her of Rowan’s hair, raw silver silk. Thinking about that made her feel even more restless and frustrated. She had to see him again.

“Earth to Celaena,” Nehemia said. “What were you thinking about.”

“Ronan,” Celaena said. That was also something she imagined Nehemia would easily believe.

“He’s for real? Honest?” Nehemia put down the eyeliner she was still holding and stared at her intently.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Celaena said without real heat.

“Sorry. It’s just that it's so unlikely — meeting a guy in a rainstorm while you're walking home. I mean, what was he doing out there? I wouldn’t have even talked to him.”

“I guess he easily fits into the ‘stranger’ category,” Celaena said, smiling.

Nehemia frowned disapprovingly. “Does he even have a car?”

“Look, the only thing that matters is that he is cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die beautiful.” Celaena waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

That at least brought a scandalized gasp. “You  _ slut,”  _ Nehemia crooned. “Do you even know if he likes you?”

Celaena ground out the stub of her cigarette on the rough cement, smearing ash in a roughly circular line. She didn’t want to go over the list of things to recommend her to a faerie knight; there wasn’t a single thing she could think of to put on such a list.

“He’ll like me. What’s not to like?” she said a self assuring smirk, hoping that the charm of speaking words aloud would make those words come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game nehemia and celaena play at the mall is one my friends and i play all the time lol we love channeling our life experiences into fan fic writing.
> 
> Drop a comment below with any feedback you may have! I love getting comments they make my heart be like uwu thank you guys for reading!!!!!!


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters belong to SJMaas and plot belongs to holly black!

That Monday morning, Celaena woke up early, got dressed, and pretended to go to school.

She had been pretending to go to school for the better part of a week now, ever since her uncle had insisted he was going to march down to the school and find out what was taking them so long to enroll her. There was no way to tell him that the transcripts were never coming since they didn’t exist, so Celaena packed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an orange and went out to kill time.

When she first moved to Rifthold, she had transferred easily to a new school to finish out the remainder of fifth grade. Even though from there she was supposed to move onto middle school, Arobynn had other ideas; she was to be “home-schooled.” She did the bare minimum schooling required by the law, and instead was educated on how to break out of handcuffs and where to stab someone in the heart while simultaneously severing their spine. When she turned sixteen, she hadn’t felt the need to continue her minimal schooling and instead dedicated herself entirely to her  _ other _ studies. She would rather be making money to pay off her debt to Arobynn than leaning chemistry. 

Celaena kicked a flattened soda can down the street ahead of her. Even she could see that she was going in no good direction, and not just literally. Her uncle was right about her; her only talents were scaring people off and a couple of cigarette-lighting tricks you needed a Zippo to perform.

She considered trying to find a good, honest job to kill time. If she had time to spare, she'd rather be making money than sitting around like a bum. The problem was she’s never worked a  _ good, honest _ job in her life; she didn’t even know where to work and who to ask.

It occurred to her that maybe Dorian would know. He worked in a 24 hour hipster coffee shop attached to an equally hipster used book store. He probably had another hour before the graveyard shift ended and the morning guy came in. If she bought him breakfast, he might not mind her hanging around too much.

The grocery store was mostly empty when she went in to find food. She got herself a small cup of strawberry granola yogurt, and a bacon egg and cheese sandwich for Dorian. She had no idea what he liked, but she assumed he wasn’t a monster and at least liked breakfast sandwiches. The yawning woman didn't even look at Celaena as she rang her up.

When Celaena got to the coffee shop, Dorian was sitting at a table in the empty store playing chess on a small, wooden board.

"Hey," Celaena called. He looked up with a not-so-friendly expression on his face. She held out the sandwich, and he just looked confused.

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" he asked finally.

"Dropped out. I'm going to get my GED." She paused. “Aren’t  _ you _ supposed to be in school”

“Touché,” he relied and raised his eyebrows as he looked at the sandwich.

"Do you want it or not?"

A customer walked in. He sighed, getting up and going behind the counter. "Put it by the board."

She sat down on the other side of the table and took the yogurt from its plastic bag. She took a bite and enjoyed the extra crunch of granola.

After ringing up the customer and pouring a cup of coffee, Dorian sat back down in front of Celaena. After a considering look, he took a bite of his sandwich.

"Who are you playing against?” she asked, drawing up her knees.

He looked up at her with a snort. "Did you come here to fuck with me? A sandwich is cheap."

"Geez, I'm just talking. Who's winning?"

Dorian smirked. "He is, for now. Come on, what are you really doing here? People do not visit me. Being social to me is, like, tempting the Apocalypse or something."

"How come?"

Dorian stood up again with a groan as another customer walked in. She watched him make a latte and some kind of blended drink. She wondered if the owner would hire a seventeen-year-old girl with no resumé — she didn’t have much money left after Arobynn bled her dry.

"Dorian," she said when he came back, "do you know of anywhere I can apply for a job that will ask minimal questions?"

"Trying to bribe me for a ride?"

She sighed. "Paranoid. I just want to know if you knew anywhere that was hiring."

He shrugged, playing out a couple more moves without editorial comment. "I’m pretty sure the book store is hiring. It's a nice place, and they give me an employee discount."

"What kind of books do you read?"

"Are you saying that you read?" Dorian looked defensive, like maybe she was leading him into some verbal trap.

"Sure. Classics. YA. Romance. Mystery. I can tell you the plot of every single Cassandra Clare book scene by scene."

Dorian regarded her speculatively for a moment, then finally relented. ”I just got out of a long YA-adventure phase, but recently I’ve been reading a lot of fanfiction to fill the void."

A man that looked like he was in his early twenties walked into the coffee shop, but instead of going up to the counter and ordering, he walked behind it and started putting on an apron

"Nice of you to show up today," Dorian said.

"I said I was sorry, bro," the man said.

Turning to Celaena, Dorian said, "Where you going now?"

Celaena shrugged.

"You want to come with? You could hang out and wait for Nehemia to get home."

She nodded. "Sure."

They drove back to the Havilliard household. The drive there was silent, but it was a comfortable kind of silent.

When they got there, Dorian switched on the TV and walked back to his room. "I'm going to check and see what I missed at school today."

Celaena nodded and sat down on the couch, only then feeling a little awkward. It was weird to be in Nehemia’s house without Nehemia. She flipped through the channels, settling on Cartoon Network.

After a few minutes, when he didn't return, she went back to his room. Dorian’s room was as unlike Nehemia’s as a room could be. There were bookshelves on all the walls, filled to overflowing with paperbacks and hardcovers. Dorian was sitting at a desk with a desktop computer on it that looked like it was bending with all the weight. Another box filled with books was next to his feet.

He was tapping on his keyboard and grunted as she came in. "Almost done."

Celaena sat down on the edge of his bed the way she would have if she was in Nehemia’s room and opened the laptop sitting on his bed. When she opened it, a website called AO3 was already open on the screen. She saw it was some kind of book, and she was curious what Dorian liked, so she started reading. About 3 paragraphs in, things started getting very, very… explicit… to say the least. It was about two male characters from a book she recognized, but she was sure what she was reading now  _ was not _ in the book she read. Then she realized; she looked up at Dorian over the computer screen. "Let me guess… this is fanfiction?"

He shot a glance at her from the computer, but she couldn't miss the smug expression. "Yeah."

Celaena wasn't sure what to say to that, which was probably the point. "You like boys?"

"There's a technical term for it," Dorian said. "Gay."

"Does your family know?"

"Yeah, the whole family knows. One night at family dinner I said, 'You know the forbidden love that Spock has for ‘ Kirk? Well, me too.' It was easier for them to understand that way. They try to be supportive, but I know it’s all a front." He sounded like he was daring Celana to say something.

"I hope you aren't expecting some kind of reaction," Celaena said finally. "Because the only thing that I can think of is that is the weirdest coming-out story I have ever heard."

His face relaxed. Then she started to laugh and both of them were laughing and looking at the laptop and laughing some more.

By the time Nehemia got back from school, Dorian was sleeping and Celaena had read multiple of what she learned were called smutfics.

"Hey," Nehemia said, looking surprised to see her sofa occupied.

Celaena yawned and took a sip from a half-full glass of cherry cola. "Oh, hi. I was hanging out with your brother and then I figured I'd just wait for you to come home."

Nehemia made a face, dumping her armful of books onto the chair. "You make school look fun. If you're going to drop out, you might as well… I don't know."

"Do something seedy?"

"Totally. Look, I'm gonna go out… I gotta meet the guys. You want to come?"

Celaena stretched and got up. "Sure."

The Blue Snapper diner was open twenty-four hours, and they didn't care how long you sat in the mirror-lined booths or how little you ordered. Chaol and Nox sat at a table with a girl Celaena didn't know who was all up on Sartaq. She had short black hair, red nails, and rich, tanned skin. Nox was wearing a short-sleeved team shirt over a long-sleeved black undershirt; the laces of his hiking boots spilled out from under the table. Sartaq cut his hair since she'd seen him last— it was now just an inch or two below his shoulders. Chaol was wearing his silver jacket over a black T-shirt and looked exactly the same: scruffy, cute, and totally off-limits.

"Sorry I freaked the other night," Celaena said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans and hoping no one wanted to talk about it too much.

"What happened?" the girl asked.

Sartaq opened his mouth to make some comment, and Chaol cut him off. "'S cool," he said with a jerk of his chin, "C'mon and slide in, ladies."

"Celaena," Nehemia said, sliding into the booth next to the girl, "this is Nesryn —I texted you about her. Celaena’s my friend from Rifthold."

"Right. Sure. Hi." It was Nesryn’s party she'd missed two nights ago, and she had no idea what had been said after she left. Chaol was barely glancing in her direction, but Nox was watching her like she might do something weird or funny. Celaena wished she'd stayed with Dorian. This was too awkward.

The waitress stopped by their table. She was wearing a brown uniform that looked too small on her, and her name tag read  _ RITA _ . "Can I get you guys anything?"

"Diet whatever," Nehemia said.

"Coffee," Celaena chimed in.

"I want… can I have some loaded fries, Rita?" Sartaq said. Nesryn laughed and curled closer into his side.

"I'll be back with refills in a minute," the waitress said, smiling guardedly at Sartaq for using her name.

Chaol turned to get his cigarettes and lighter out of the pocket of his coat.

"Anyone want?" he asked, offering up the pack.

"I do," Celaena said.”

"Whatever you want, you get," he tossed back, giving her a cigarette with a smirk that made the heat rise to her face.

Nehemia was talking to Nox, not paying attention to either of them at the moment. Sartaq was picking at the cheese-and-bacon-covered fries the waitress had plunked down in front of him.

"Want to see a trick?" Celaena asked, suddenly not wanting to back down from the implied challenge in Chaol’s voice. "Let me see your lighter."

It was silver with an enamel eight-ball medallion soldered to the front of it. He handed it over.

Celaena had learned this trick from a friend of hers named Ansel back in Rifthold, claiming that was a sure way to impress the boys. Celaena had had no idea why Ansel would want to impress anyone since she already had Mikhail, but she'd learned the trick and it had impressed bartenders, at least.

Celaena held the metal body of the lighter between the first two fingers of her left hand; then she flipped it first over and then under each finger so that the metal shimmered like a minnow. Faster and faster, she made the lighter hurdle her fingers. Then she stopped, flicked the lid open, and lit it, all with her right hand resting on the table. She leaned over and generously offered the flame to Chaol’s cigarette.

If she ever saw Ansel again, she’d have to tell her it worked. All three of the boys looked impressed.

Chaol’s lopsided grin was an invitation to mischief.

"Cool," Sartaq said. "Want to show me how to do that?"

"Sure," Celaena said, lighting her own cigarette and taking a deep breath of bitter smoke. She showed him, doing the trick in slow motion so that he could see how it was done, then letting him try it.

"I gotta get out of the booth for a minute," Chaol said, and she and Nox scooted out.

Before she could get back in, Chaol nudged her arm and jerked his head toward the bathrooms.

"Be right back," Celaena told Nehemia, dropping her cigarette into the ashtray. "Bathroom."

Nehemia must not have noticed anything since she just nodded.

Celaena walked behind Chaol to the small hallway. Even though she had no idea what he wanted, her cheeks were already warm, and a strange thrill was coiling in her belly.

Once they were in the hallway, Chaol turned to her and draped his lean body against the wall.

"What did you do to me?" Chaol asked, taking a quick drag from his cigarette and rubbing the stubble along his cheekbone with the back of one hand.

Celaena shook her head. "Nothing. What do you mean?"

He lowered his voice, speaking with a quiet intensity. "The other night. The dragon. What did you do?" He paused and looked the other way before continuing. "I can't stop thinking about you."

Celaena was stunned. "I… honestly… I didn't do anything."

"Well, undo it," he said, scowling.

She struggled for an explanation. "Sometimes when I daydream… things happen. I was just thinking about the dragon flying, and maybe even breathing fire. I didn't hear you come in." 

He looked at her as intensely as he had in the attic of the carousel building, bringing his cigarette to his lips again. "This is fucked," he said a little desperately. "I mean it; I can't get you out of my head. You're all I think about, all day long."

Celaena had no idea what to say to that.

He took a step closer to her without seeming to notice. "You have to do something."

She took a step back, but the wall halted her. She could feel the cool tile against her spine. The pay phone to her right blocked her view of the register. "I'm sorry," she said.

He took another step, until his chest was against hers. "I want you," he said urgently. His knee moved between her legs.

"We're in a diner," Celaena said, grabbing him by the shoulders so that he had to look at her face. He was pale except for a touch of hectic pink in the cheeks. His eyes looked glazed.

"I want to stop wanting you," he said and moved to kiss her. Celaena turned her head so that he got a mouthful of hair, but it didn't seem to bother him. He kissed his way down her throat, biting the skin punishingly, licking the bites with his tongue. One of his hands ran up from her waist to cup her breast while the other threaded through her hair.

Her hands were still clenched on his shoulders as she wavered in indecision. She could shove him off. She should shove him off. But her traitorous body was urging her to wait a little longer, clasp him a little closer and see what might happen.

"Guys, I was… what the hell?"

Chaol pushed back from Celaena at the sound of Nehemia’s voice. Several strands of long blond hair were still caught on his hand, shimmering like spiderwebs.

He drew himself up. "Don't give me more of your insecure girlfriend bullshit."

Nehemia had tears in her eyes. "You were kissing her!"

"Calm the fuck down!"

Celaena fled to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall and sliding into a sitting position on the dirty floor.

Her heart was beating so fast, she thought it might beat its way out of her chest. The space was too small for pacing, but she wanted to pace, wanted to do something that would work answers out of her tangled mind. Magic, if there was such a thing, should not work like this. She should not be able to enchant someone she barely knew without even deciding to do it.

The delight was the worst part, the part of her that could overlook the guilt and see the poetic justice in making Chaol unable to stop thinking about her freaky self. It would be easy to like him, she thought, cute and cool and wanting her. And unlike an unattainable faerie knight, he was someone she could really have.

Taking a deep breath, she left the stall. She went to the sinks and splashed her face with water from the tap. Looking up, she saw her own reflection in the mirror, faded red T-shirt spattered with dark droplets of water, eye makeup smudgy and indistinct, blond hair hanging in tangled strands.

Something caught her eye as she turned away, though. Approaching the mirror, she looked at her face again, closely. She looked the same as ever. Celaena shook her head and walked to the door. For a moment, she had thought that her ears had pointed tips.

More coffees were on the table when she got back, and she sipped at the one in front of where she had been sitting. Her cigarette had burned down to ash in the glass tray. Sartaq was telling Nox about the new car he was restoring, and Nehemia was glaring at Chaol.

"Your pardon, Celaena," said a voice that was both familiar and strange.

There was a moment when Celaena just froze. Her mind was screaming that this was impossible. It was against the rules. They never did this. It was one thing to believe in faeries; it was totally another thing if you weren't allowed to even have a choice about it. If they could just walk into your normal life, then they were a part of normal life, and she could no longer separate the two in her head.

But Rowan was indeed standing beside their booth. His hair was white as salt under the fluorescent lights. He was wearing a long black wool coat that hid whatever he was wearing underneath all the way down to his thoroughly modern leather boots. There was so little color in his face that he seemed to be entirely monochromatic, a picture shot in black-and-white film.

"Who's the goth?" Celaena heard Nesryn say.

"Ronan, I think his name is," Nehemia replied glumly.

Rowan raised an eyebrow when he heard that, but he went on. "May I speak with you a moment?"

She felt incapable of doing more than nodding her head. Getting up from the booth, she walked with him to an empty table. Neither one sat down.

"I came to give you this." Rowan reached into his coat and took out a lump of black cloth from some well-hidden pocket. And smiled, the same smile she remembered from the forest, the one that was just for her. "It's your shirt, back from the dead."

"Like you," she said.

He nodded slightly. "Indeed."

"My friends told me not to talk to you." She hadn't known she was going to say that till it came out of her mouth. The words felt like thorns falling from her tongue.

He looked down and took a breath. "Your friends? Not, I assume, those friends." His eyes flickered toward the booth, and she shook her head.

"Gavriel and Lysandra," she said.

His eyes were dark when he looked at her again, and the smile was gone. "I killed a friend of theirs. Perhaps a friend of yours."

Around her, people were eating and laughing and talking, but those normal sounds felt as far away and out of place as a laugh track. "You killed Sam."

He nodded.

She stared at him, as though things might somehow reshuffle to make sense. "How? Why? Why are you telling me this?"

Rowan didn't meet her gaze as he spoke. "Is there some excuse that I could give you that would make it better? Some explanation that you would find acceptable?"

"That's your answer? Don't you even care?"

"You have the shirt. I have done what I came here to do."

She grabbed his arm and moved around to face him. "You owe me three questions."

He stiffened, but his face remained blank. "Very well."

Anger surged up in her, a bitter helpless feeling. "Why did you kill Sam?"

"My mistress bade me do so. I have little choice in my obedience." Rowan tucked his long fingers into the pockets of the coat. He spoke matter-of-factly, as though he was bored by his own answers.

"Right," Celaena said. "So if she told you to jump off a bridge…?"

"Exactly." There was no irony in his tone. "Shall I consider that your second question?"

Celaena stopped and took a breath, her face filling with heat. She was so angry that she was shaking.

"Why don't you…" she began, and stopped herself. She had to think. Anger was making her careless and stupid. She had one more question, and she was determined that she would use it to piss him off, if nothing else. She thought about the note she'd gotten in the acorn and the warning she'd been given. "What's your full name?"

He looked like he would choke on the air he breathed. "What?"

"That's my third question: What is your full name?" She didn't know what she had done, not really. She only knew that she was forcing him to do something he didn't want to do, and that suited her fine.

Rowan’s eyes darkened with fury. "Rowan Enda Whitethorn, much may the knowledge please you."

Her eyes narrowed. "It's a nice name."

"You are too clever by half. Too clever for your own good, I think."

"Fuck off, Rowan Enda Whitethorn."

Rowan let out a smile that looked more like a sneer and turned on his heel to leave. Celaena was confused as to why; she wasn’t done scolding him. She had vowed when she left Rifthold that no one would ever belittle her and get away with it, and Rowan was no exception.

She turned and grabbed his arm to stop him, but the second her hand clasped his forearm, he shoved her to the floor.

Time seemed to slow as she fell onto the slick floor, as he looked at her with malice in his eyes, as diner patrons stared, as Chaol struggled out from the booth.

Rowan stood over her. He spoke tonelessly. "That is the nature of servitude, Celaena. It is literal-minded and not at all clever. You ordered me to  _ fuck off,  _ so I must. Be careful with your epithets."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Chaol said, finally there, bending down to help Celaena up.

"Ask her," Rowan said, indicating Celaena with his chin. "Now she knows exactly who I am." He turned and walked out of the diner.

She was furious. All she could see was red.

"Come on," Nesryn was saying, although Celaena was barely paying attention. "Let's take her outside. Just us girls."

Nesryn and Nehemia led her outside and sat down on the hood of one of the parked cars. Celaena dimly hoped it belonged to one of them as she sat down. Already she'd thought of a hundred different ways she would make Rowan Whitethorn sorry he ever laid a hand on her.

Nesryn lit a cigarette and handed it to Celaena. She took a deep drag, but her throat felt thick and the smoke just made her cough.

"I had a boyfriend like that before Sartaq. Used to beat the shit out of me." Nesryn sat next to Celaena and patted her back.

  
  


"Maybe he saw you with Chaol," Nehemia said without looking at her. She was leaning against a headlight, staring out across the highway.

"I'm sorry," Celaena said miserably.

"Give her a break," Nesryn said. "It's not like you didn't do the same thing to me."

Nehemia turned to look at Celaena then. "You're not going to get him, you know. He might want to fuck you, but he'd never go out with you."

Celaena just nodded, bringing the cigarette to her mouth with trembling hands. It would have been a better idea, she decided, if she had sworn off boys entirely.

"Is that Ronan guy going to come after you?" Nesryn asked. Celaena almost wanted to laugh at her concern. If he did, no one could do anything to stop him. He'd moved faster than Celaena could even see. She'd never seen anyone move like that, besides maybe herself on a good day.

"I don't think so," she said finally.

Chaol, Sartaq, and Nox all walked out of the diner, swaggering in tandem toward the girls.

"Everything okay?" Sartaq asked.

"Just a couple of bruises," Celaena said. "No big deal."

"Damn," Nox said. "Between the other night and tonight, you're going to be too paranoid to hang out with us."

Celaena tried to smile, but she couldn't help wondering how double-edged those words were.

"Want me to drive you home?" Chaol asked.

Celaena looked up, about to thank him, when Nesryn interrupted. "Why don't you take Nehemia? Nox can drive Sartaq home, and I'll drop off and Celaena."

Chaol looked down at the scuffed tops of his Doc Martens and sighed. "Right."

Nesryn drove Celaena home in relative silence, and she was grateful. The radio was on, and she just sat in the passenger seat and pretended to listen. When Nesryn pulled up in front of Celaena’s uncle’s house, she cut the lights.

"I don't know what happened with you and Chaol," Nesryn began.

"Me neither," Celaena said with a short laugh.

The other girl smiled and bit one of her manicured nails. "Look, I don't know about Ronan and you or anything, but if you are just looking for some way to piss off your boyfriend, don't do it. Nehemia really loves Chaol, y'know? She's devoted."

Celaena opened the door and got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem." Nesryn flicked the car lights back on.

Celaena slammed the door of the silver Toyota and went inside.

Her uncle was sitting watching the water boil for the box of pasta on the counter. He looked up at her with something that was too close to guilt for her liking and asked, “do you want dinner? We need to talk about—“

“Don’t bother. I already ate.” Celaena stomped up the stairs; she had too much to think about, and she didn’t want her uncle’s half-assed apology along with it.

**********

A hundred matchbooks, from a hundred clubs she’d been to, bars she scammed the owner of, or from restaurants that she got a meal in, or from men she’d killed. A hundred match-books, all on fire.

She was on fire too, aflame in a way she was not sure she understood. Adrenaline turned her fingers to ice, drawing her heat inward to dance in her head, anger and a strange sense of possibility thrumming through her veins.

Celaena looked around her dark bedroom, lit only by the flickering orange light. She breathed in the sharp smell of sulfur as she struck another matchbook, watching the flame catch across the rows of white match heads, the cardboard covering exploding into fire. She turned the paper in her hands, watching it burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A 100 hits... y’all... i am astonished asdfghjk
> 
> Drop a comment (and maybe kudos?) if ya feel like it. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> characters belong of SJMaas and plot belongs to Holly Black! Enjoy!

Celaena awoke to a scratching at the window. The room was dark and the house was silent.

Something peered in at her. She sat up on her bed; she found the tawny eyes of a mountain lion staring back at her. Being so close to the Staghorns, this occurrence was far from extraordinary — but she would recognize those eyes anywhere

"Gavriel?" Celaena whispered, crawling up off the mattress on the floor where she had been sleeping. The covers tangled with her legs.

He pawed at the window. Behind him, she could make out Lysandra in her favored ghost leopard form .

Celaena pushed on the window, but it took several tries to get it unstuck from the old, swollen sill. Two white moths fluttered in.

"Gavriel!" Celaena said. "Lys! Where have you been? I've been back for days and days."

With a flash of light, Gavriel shifted into his human form. "Baba Yellowlegs is waiting," he said. "Hurry."

His tone of voice was odd, urgent and strangely unfriendly. He had never talked to her that way before. Still, she obeyed out of familiarity: same old room, same little friends coming in the middle of the night to take her to catch fireflies or pick sour cherries. She pulled a black sweater over her white nightgown and kicked on her boots. Then she scanned the room for her coat, but it was just another black, soft pile in the dark, and she left it. The sweater was warm enough.

Celaena climbed out onto the roof. "Why does she want to see me?" Celaena had always thought of Baba Yellowlegs as a crotchety aunt, someone who didn't like to play and who you could get in trouble with.

"There's something she needs to tell you."

"Can't you tell me?" Celaena said. She swung her legs off the edge of the roof while Lysandra shifted into her “human” form. There was no flash of light when she shifted, and Celaena wondered why; she filed that question away for later

"Come on," Gavriel said.

Celaena pushed herself off the edge and dropped. The dry branches of a rhododendron bush scratched her legs as she landed, spry as a cat, on her two feet.

They ran toward the street, Lysandra pulling her into a bone crushing hug, whispering, "I missed you, I missed you."

"I missed you too," Celaena said to Lys, releasing her from the hug.

"This way," Gavriel said, needlessly. Celaena remembered the way.

The Glass Swamp, so called because of the abundance of broken bottles choking the river, ran beneath the road a half a mile down the street. They climbed down the steep bank, Celaena’s boots caked in mud. Beer bottles sat on rocks, some already smashed into big pieces. The thin rivulets of water shimmered with multicolor hues like a church window.

"What's happening? What's the matter?" she called as quietly as she could and still have Gavriel hear her. Something was definitely wrong—he was hurrying along like he couldn't look her in the face. But then, maybe she was too old to be fun anymore.

He didn't answer.

Lys darted up to her, dark brown hair whipping around. "We have to hurry. Don't worry. It's good news."

"Hush," Gavriel said.

The heavy growth close to the stream forced her to pick her way near the water's edge. Celaena stepped carefully along the bank, darkness making it hard to see whether the next step would plunge her boot into cold water. They walked in silence.

A flash of white caught her eye—cracked eggshells bobbed in the narrow stream. Celaena stopped to watch the armada of shells, some small and spotted, others gleaming supermarket white. In the center of one, a spider scuttled from side to side, an unwilling captain. In another, a black pin anchored the center as the shell spun dizzily.

Celaena heard a chuckle.

"Much can be divined from an eggshell," Baba Yellowlegs said. Large silver eyes peered out from the braided weeds and briars that covered her head like hair. She was sitting on the opposite side of the riverbank, her squat body covered in layers of drab cloth.

"They have even caught us," the Baba Yellowlegs went on, "with the brewing of eggshells. Pride makes braggarts of even the wisest of the folk, so it is said."

Celaena had always been afraid of her as a child, but she had experienced enough true fear in her life to not be afraid of her anymore. She knew the witch across from her was more visually terrifying that anything else. And she was afraid of very little now.

"Hello," Celaena said, not sure how to address her. When she was a child, most of the times she had spoken to the witch had involved a splinter or a skinned knee or an apology for dragging one of her friends Ironside for a prank. "Gavriel said you had something to tell me."

Baba Yellowlegs regarded her for a long moment, as if taking her measure.

"So much focus on the egg—it is life, it is food, it is the answer to a hundred riddles—but look at its shell. The secrets are written on its walls. Secrets lie in the entrails of things, in the dregs." Baba Yellowlegs poked a pin into either side of a tiny blue egg and put it to her lips. Her cheeks puffed out with air, and a trickle of clear, thick snot like liquid drizzled into a copper bowl in her lap.

Celaena looked at the eggshells, still bobbing down the stream. She didn't understand. What secrets did they hold, except a spider and a pin?

Baba Yellowlegs tapped the damp earth beside her. "Would you see what I see, Celaena? Sit beside me."

Celaena looked for a dry patch and crossed the stream with an easy leap.

A tiny being wearing a moleskin coat slithered onto Baba Yellowlegs’ lap and poked its head inquisitively into the bowl.

“Once, there were two courts, the Bright and the Dark, the Terrasen Fae and the Wendlyn Fae, the folk of the earth and the folk of the air; these two courts remained in relative harmony, enjoying their continents an ocean apart. Then, the Queen of the Wendlyn Fae became ambitious, far too ambitious for her own good; Maeve sought to rule over both courts. She killed the Ruler of the Bright Court — of the Terrasen Fae, and his nephew to secure her rule. She took the last remaining descendent of his line, the nephew's daughter, and no one has heard of the girl since. Before the fall of the Bright Court, the Terrasen fae lived contentedly. But now under the rule of Queen Maeve, the Terrasen fae are seen as lesser, as weak. Now, we Bright Court folk keep from their affairs, keep to our hidden groves and underground streams.” Baba Yellowlegs stroked the gleaming fur of the little faerie's coat absently as she spoke. "Queen Maeve and the Dark Court have brought back the Tithe, the sacrifice of a beautiful and talented mortal. In exchange, those who dwell in Bright Court must bind themselves into service. Their service is hard, Celaena, and their amusements are cruel. And now you have drawn their notice."

"Because of Rowan?"

"Oh do speak his name again," Gavriel hissed. "Shall we invite the whole Dark Court to afternoon tea while we're being daft?"

"Hush," Baba Yellowlegs soothed. Gavriel shot her an angry glare and looked away.

"You mustn't even use their speaking names aloud," Baba Yellowlegs told Celaena. "The Dark Court is terrible, terrible and dangerous. And of the Dark Court, no knight is as feared as… the one you spoke with. Many years ago, before your birth, in an act of goodwill both courts exchanged their best knights. He who you speak of was a former Bright Court Fae, and our greatest warrior; he was sent to Queen Maeve. Now, the Queen sends him on the worst of her errands."

"He is so unpredictable that even his Queen cannot trust him. He's as likely to be kind as to kill you," Lys put in. "He killed Sam."

"I know," Celaena said. "He told me."

Lysandra looked at Baba Yellowlegs in surprise. "That's exactly what I mean! What perverse ovation of friendship is that?"

"How… how did he do it?" Celaena asked, half of her dreading the answer, but needing to know nonetheless. "How did Sam die?"

Lysandra walked over to Celaena and put her hand on her shoulder. "He was with me. We went to the knowe—the faerie hill. There was cowslip wine, and Sam wanted me to help him filch a bottle. He was going to trade it for a pair of pretty boots from one of his hob friends.

"It was easy to find the way inside. There's a patch of grass that's all brown and that's the door. We got the bottle, easy-peasy, and were on our way out when we saw the cakes."

"Cakes?" Celaena was baffled.

"Beautiful white honey cakes, heaped on a plate for the taking. Eat 'em and you get wiser, you know."

"I don't think it works that way," Celaena said.

"Of course it does," Lysandra scolded. "How else would it work?"

Continuing, Lysandra dropped her hand from Celaena’s shoulder and turned away, stricken with grief. "He swallowed five before they caught him."

Celaena didn't point out that if these cakes were supposed to make him wiser, it should have occurred to him to stop after one. It didn't make his death any less horrifying.

"They probably would have let him go, but she needed a fox for her hunt. Since he stole the cakes, she said he was the perfect fox. Oh, Celaena it was awful. They had these dogs and horses, and they just rode him down. Rowan was the one that got him."

"What is it with you fools and saying his name?" Gavriel growled.

Celaena shook her head. Rowan had killed Sam for fun? Because he stole some food? And she'd helped the bastard. It made her skin crawl to think of the easy way she'd spoken with Rowan, the ways she had thought of him. She wondered what exactly could be done with a name, what sort of revenge she could really have.

Baba Yellowlegs held out the little egg. "Come, Celaena, blow out the insides of the egg and then break it open. There is a secret for you."

Celaena took the little blue egg. It was so light that she was afraid it would break from the slight pressure of her hand.

She knelt over Baba Yellowlegs’ bowl and blew lightly into the pinhole of the egg. A viscous stream of albumen and yolk slithered from the other side, dropping into the bowl.

"Now break it."

Celaena pressed her thumb against the egg and the whole side of it collapsed, held together by a thin membrane.

Gavriel and Lys looked surprised, but Baba Yellowlegs just nodded.

"I did it wrong," Celaena said, and brushed the eggshells into the stream. Unlike the little boats, this egg was a shower of confetti on the water.

"Let me just speak another secret then, child, since this one eludes you. If you think on it, I'm sure that you'll admit there's something passing strange about you. A strangeness, not just of manner, but of something else. The scent of it, the spoor of it, warns Ironsiders off, makes them wary and draws them in all the same."

Celaena shook her head, not sure where this was going.

"Tell her a different secret," Gavriel warned. "This one will only make things harder."

"You are one of us," Baba Yellowlegs said to Celaena, silver eyes glittering like jewels.

"What?" She'd heard what was said, she understood, she was just stalling for time for her brain to start working again. She could not seem to get a breath of air into her lungs. There were grades to impossible, levels, at least, of unreality. And each time Celaena thought she was at the lowest level, the ground seemed to open up beneath her.

"Mortal girls are stupid and slow," Lys said. "You don't have to pretend anymore."

She was shaking her head, but even as she did it, she knew it was true. It felt true, unbalancing and rebalancing her world so neatly that she wondered how she didn't think of it before now. After all, why would only she be visited by faeries? Why would only she have magic she couldn't control? How else would have the strength that won her the title of Ardarlan’s Assassin?

"Why didn't you tell me?" Celaena demanded.

"Too chancy," Gavriel said.

"So why are you telling me now?"

"Because it is you who will be chosen for the Tithe." Baba Yellowlegs crossed her lanky arms serenely. "And because it is your right to know."

Gavriel snorted.

"What? But you said I'm not…" She stopped herself. Not one single intelligent comment had come out of her mouth all night, and she doubted that was likely to change.

"They figure you're human," Gavriel said. "And that's a good thing."

"Some crazy faeries want to kill me and you think it's a good thing? Hey, I thought we were friends."

Gavriel didn't even have the grace to smile at the weak joke. He was entirely wrapped up in his planning. "There is a former Dark Court knight. He can pull the glamour off you. It will look like the Dark Queen wanted to sacrifice one of our own—the sort of jest many would well believe of her." Gavriel took a breath. "We need your help."

Celaena bit her upper lip, running her teeth over it in deep concentration. "I'm really confused right now—you guys know that, right?"

"If you help us, we'll be freeeeee," Lys said. "Seven years of free!"

"So what's the difference between the Bright Court and the Dark Court?" Celaena asked.

"There are many, many courts, Bright and Dark alike. But it is nearly always true that the Dark Courts are worse. Us Bright Court folk are under the rule of Queen Maeve, although she has never set foot in these lands. We will be under her rule unless someone dares challenge her claim to the throne," Baba Yellowlegs responded

"So why don't you just leave?"

"Some of us cannot, the tree people, for instance. But for the others, where would we go? Another court might be harder than this one."

"Why do the Bright Court fae trade their freedom from Maeve for a human sacrifice?"

"Some do it for the blood, others for protection. The human sacrifice is a show of power. Power that could force our obedience."

"But won't they just take you back by force, then?"

"No. The Dark Court fae obey the agreement as we do. They are bound by its constraints. If the sacrifice is voided, then we are free of Queen Maeve’s rule for seven years —and only during those seven years can a new ruler claim the throne."

"Look, you guys, you know I'll help you. I'd help you do anything."

The huge smile on Gavriel’s face chased away all her former concern over his gruffness. He must have just been worried she'd say no. Lys clapped her hands excitedly.

Celaena took a deep breath and turned to Baba Yellowlegs. "How did this happen? If I am a Faerie, why was I raised as a human?”

Gavriel shook his head. "We don't know the answer to that any more than we know why we were told to watch you."

"You said… glamoured. Does that mean I don't look like this?"

"It's a very powerful glamour. Someone put it on to stay." Gavriel nodded sagely.

"What do I really look like?"

"Well, you're high fae, if that helps." Gavriel scratched his head. "It usually means your ears are pointed. And you’re probably a little taller."

Celaena closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head. "How can I see me?"

"I don't advise it," Gavriel said. "Once you pull that thing off, no one we know can put it back on that good. Just let it be until Samhain—that's when the Tithe is. Someone might figure out what you are if you go messing with your face."

"Soon it'll be off for good and you won't have to pretend to be mortal anymore if you don't want," Lys chirped.

"If the glamour on me is so good, how did you know what I was?"

Baba Yellowlegs smiled. "Glamour is the stuff of illusion, but sometimes, if deftly woven, it can be more than a mere disguise. Fantastical pockets can actually hold baubles, an illusionary umbrella can protect one from the rain, and magical gold can remain gold, at least until the warmth of the magician's hand fades from the coins. The magic on you is the strongest I have seen, Celaena. It protects you even from the touch of iron, which burns faerie flesh. I know you to be high fae because I visited you shortly after you were born. The King herself asked us to look after you."

"But why?"

"Who can tell the whims of Kings?"

"What if I did want to remove the glamour?" Celaena insisted.

Baba Yellowlegs took a step toward her. "The ways of removing faerie magic are many. A four-leaf clover, rowan berries, looking at yourself through a rock with a natural hole. It is your decision to make.”

Celaena took a deep breath. She needed to think. "I'm going to go back to bed."

"One more thing," Baba Yellowlegs said as Celaena rose from the bank and dusted off the backs of her thighs. "Heed the warning of your shattered eggshell. Where you go, chaos and discord will follow."

“What does that mean?"

Baba Yellowlegs smiled. "Time will tell. It always does."

**********

Celaena stood on the lawn of her uncle’s house. It was dark except for the silvery moon, the moon that didn't seem anthropomorphic tonight, just a cold rock glowing with reflected light. It was the bare trees that looked alive, their twisted branches sharp arrows that might pierce her heart.

Still, she could not go inside the house. She sat in the dew-damp grass and ripped up clumps of it, tossing them in the air and feeling vaguely guilty about it. Some gnome ought to pop out of the tree and scold her for torturing the lawn.

A high fae. The word sounded so… regal. It made her smile, though, to think of being magical, of having delicate pointed ears like Lys, of having quick fingers like poor Sam. 

She knew that they didn't want her to mess up the plan for Halloween, but right now, she just wanted to see what she looked like.

There were patches of clover on the lawn.

Leaning into the patch of brown, half-dead clover, she spread her fingers out and searched. There were so many, even in autumn, there had to be one with four leaves.

It was slow going in the dark, and yet none of the clovers she dug through had more or less than three leaves. She was getting desperate enough to tear one of the heart-shaped leaves down the middle and find out whether this magic stuff was more symbolic or literal. Still, it wasn't like she had to find it, she only had to touch it…

Oh, that was too stupid. That could never work. Even if it did work it was still stupid.

Celaena spread herself out on the ground, hoping no cars were driving by at this hour. Then she rolled over the patch of clover. The ground was cold, the dew dusted with frost. She rolled dizzily, holding her arms above her head. She had to laugh as she did it—the whole thing was absurd and it was making her damp and really, really cold, but there was something in the smell of the earth and the touch of the grass that enervated her. Her laughter spun up out of her mouth in warm gusts of breath.

She didn't feel changed, but she did feel better. She was grinning like a fool, anxiety put to rest by silliness.

Lying back, Celaena tried to imagine herself as a faerie, all sparkly with hair that was always blowing in the breeze. The only image she could summon up, however, was the sharpened features and pointed ears she had thought she'd seen as she was leaving the diner bathroom. She could remember it in such detail that it felt less real than a memory. Perhaps it was something from a movie.

Celaena rolled over to get up and go inside when she noticed that a piece of skin on her hand was loose. When she touched it with a tentative finger, it sloughed off like a sunburn, revealing freckle-less tanned skin. Celaena licked her finger; her hand tasted like dirt.

Celaena stopped moving. She was scared, scared, sick with scared, but calm too, calm as nothing. Get a grip, she told herself, you wanted to see this.

Her eyes itched, and she rubbed her knucklebones over it. Something came off against her fingers. It felt like a contact lens, but when she looked down, she saw that it was skin and that with the rubbing, even more skin had come off her hands.

As she looked up, it seemed that the whole world had grown brighter, shimmering with light. Colors danced along the grass. The brown of the trees was many-hued, the wrinkles of shadows deep as newly turned secrets, and beautiful.

She spread her arms as wide as they would go. She could smell the pungent green of the grass she stamped as she rose. She could smell the sharp chill of the air as she spun, full of car exhaust, of crumpled leaves, of smoke from some distant leafpile burning. She could smell the rot of desiccated wood, the spoilage of the hoards that ants piled away for winter. She could hear the churning of termites, the whine of electricity in the house, the wind rustling a thousand paper-dry leaves.

She could taste chemicals in the air—iron, smoke, other things she had no names for. They played over her tongue in dark harmony.

It was too much. It was overwhelming. There were so many sensations buffeting her, too many for her to filter out. She couldn't go inside the house like this, but right now she wanted to; she wanted to burrow under her blankets and wait for all-forgiving dawn. She wasn't ready for this—it had been a whim, her curiosity.

What did she really look like?

She should go back now, back to the swamp, confess all, and let Baba Yellowlegs explain what she'd just done to herself. Celaena forced herself to take a few quick breaths without thinking what they tasted like. She was fine, better than fine, she was fucking supernatural. All she had to do was walk back to the swamp and not touch any of her skin on the way.

But once she started, she knew she couldn't walk. She was running. Running through the backyards of houses, hearing dogs barking, and her legs wet from unmowed grass. Running, through a parking lot, mostly empty, where a boy pushing carts stopped to look at her, and into the lot behind, and the sweet reek of trash, where she stopped, panting, and held her sides. There it was, the thin disguise of trees and the small river that flowed through it.

"Gavriel! Lys!" Celaena called, frightened by the breathless gasp of her own voice. "Please…"

Nothing answered her but silence.

Celaena staggered down the hill, her boots sinking in the mud. The eggshells were gone. There was only the stink of stagnant water. The shattered bottles shimmered like jagged jewels through her new eyes. She stopped, awed by the beauty.

"Please, Lysandra, someone…"

No one answered.

Celaena sat down in the cold mud. She could wait. She would have to wait.

**********

Celaena stretched and turned. The leaves over her shifted and blew with the morning wind. Drops of cold water tapped her cheek, then her arm, then the lid of her one eye. Celaena sat up. Her eyes felt hard and her lips were sore and swollen.

Her skin, previously marred and scarred and full of freckles, was completely clean like a baby’s. Her fingers seemed too long and curled fluidly with a new fourth joint, coiling like snails when she made a fist. She brought up her other hand, where the skin had come loose last night. Beneath it, her skin was tanned and new.

No one had come. Another droplet spattered her bare leg, and she jerked upright. Her nightgown was filthy, and she was shivering, even under her sweater.

Biting back tears, Celaena folded her arms around herself and started walking. She couldn't go home—not yet, not when she knew she didn't belong there—but she had to get out of the rain.

She stopped in a parking lot and twisted the side mirror of a car toward her so that she could see her profile. Her hair was matted in a nimbus of twigs, wet with dew, and she saw that her features were sharper, more defined. Her ear was longer, sticking up through her hair to the top of her head. Her cheeks, sunken and sharp, and her eye — the golden core of it seemed to be glowing. She was taller, nearly 6 inches so.

She reached up and touched her face. The skin tore easily, revealing a strip of perfect, tanned skin.

Her hand hit the mirror, spiderwebbing the glass, and surprising her. Ignoring the pain in her wrist and the damp burn of blood on her knuckles, she started to run.

**********

Dorian squinted. A tall girl was standing in the parking lot and under dim street lights just outside of the coffee shop. She looked up, and he thought he recognized her, but when she got closer, he wasn't so sure.

"I was going to Nehemia’s," she said, sounding just like Celaena. "But I just remembered she's at school. Why did you call me? It’s not like you really care."

Up close the girl didn't look anything like Celaena. She didn't look anything like anybody. Her upturned eyes looked as if they were glowing. She was tall, and muscular too. Tall ears parted her tangled hair on either side of her head. Her freckled skin seemed to be flaking, revealing the completely clear skin underneath.

He walked outside the store and called "Celaena?"

The girl smiled at him, but her smile was too fierce. The skin tore on her lower lip.

He was frozen, staring at her.

She scooted past him into the empty coffee shop, stretching her twiglike fingers. He stifled a whimper, trying to keep his eyes focused on the cash register, the dirty dishes, the numerous coffee machines, all familiar things. He could smell her, a weird combination of pine needles, moss, and leaf piles. It was making him dizzy.

She sat down on the floor.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Celaena held out her hand and tilted it slightly in the light. "I'm sick," she said. "I'm really sick."

That didn’t explain why she was almost six inches taller than usual. 

He crouched down and looked at her again. There was a luminescence to her skin, a kind of brightness about her that made her eyes glitter feverishly. 

He picked up a block of wood with a dangling key. "Let's go in the bathroom. The light's better and you can wash more of this crap off."

She got up off the floor.

"I could take you over to the hospital," he said. She didn't reply, and he didn't pursue it. He knew this wasn't a hospital-type thing—he just felt like he ought to say it.

The bathroom was grimy. Dorian certainly couldn't recall anyone doing more than changing the toilet paper in all the time he had worked there. The once-white tiles were cracked and grayed. There was barely enough room for two people, but Celaena squeezed in obediently next to the toilet and stripped off her sweater.

"Take off the rest of it. There's something on your back."

She shot him a look that looked almost like… fear? It was gone in a flash — she seemed quickly to decide either he didn't care or she didn't. She kicked off her boots, pulled off the sweater and then the nightgown until she was only in her panties and bra.

Bunching up her nightgown under the faucet, he got it sopping wet. He used the cloth to scrub off what was left of her skin and the pigment of her hair. He saw her back and audibly gasped; the skin there was red and aggravated. There were three huge scars that took up the entire expanse of her back. They looked like whip scars. They were whip scars. How had she gotten them?

The skin on her back peeled off with one scrub. It revealed the same, smooth skin underneath. Any trace of the mess that had been her skin before was gone.

He heard Celaena let out what sounded to be like a small sob.

"Its okay," he said in as soothing a voice as he could. Outside he heard a car pull into the parking lot. He ignored it.

She stood up to her full height, about an inch taller than himself, and looked at herself in the mirror.

The sight of it sent a thrill through him, despite the fear. This was the real thing.

"C'mon," he said. "My house."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait — this chapter and the chapter after this have been giving me major struggles lol but its fine we keep on grinding. The faeries here are slightly different from those in ToG and the creative liberties tag comes into effect here. Witches are like a subspecies of fae in this fic. I tried to make the differences as apparent as possible but if you have any questions I can answer them for sure!
> 
> Leave a kudos and drop a comment below! Thank you for giving this story a chance!


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill — plot belongs to holly black and the characters belong to sjmaas

Celaena sat down gingerly at the edge of the couch. She was wearing a pair of Dorian’s jeans, belted and rolled at the cuffs, and a black, hooded sweatshirt. Her skin was so sensitive that she imagined she could feel particles as they drifted through the air.

Dorian poured himself a glass of Mountain Dew. "Can you drink soda?"

"I think so," Celaena said. "I could before."

He poured some in a mug and handed it over to her. She didn't sip it.

She could smell the soda, smell the green dyes and the chemical carbonation. She could smell Dorian, the acid of his excited sweating and sweetness of his breath. The air she breathed tasted of cigarettes and cats and plastic and iron in a way she had never noticed before—it nearly made her gag with each breath.

"It's starting to sink in," Dorian said. "I can almost look at you without wanting to bang my head against the wall."

"I'm not sure how to explain. It started a long time ago. I'm not sure I remember important things."

"Recently, then." Dorian sat down on the couch. He was staring at her with what looked like a combination of fascination and repulsion.

"I rolled in some clover." She gave a short laugh at the absurdity of it.

"Why?" Dorian didn't laugh at all. He was totally serious.

"Because Baba Yellowlegs told me that that was one of the ways I could see myself the way I really am. See—I told you that it gets ridiculous."

"This is the way you really are, then?"

Celaena nodded carefully. "I guess so."

"And Mama Yellowlegs? Who is she?"

"Baba Yellowlegs," Celaena corrected. And she told him. Told him how she'd known faeries for as long as she could remember, how Sam would lay on the floor of her bedroom when she was small and tell her stories about goblins and giants, and how Lys could shift into anyone, or anything, she wanted. She told him how Gavriel taught her how to make a piercing whistle with a blade of grass and described Baba Yellowlegs divining with eggshells.

All the while, Dorian stared with greedy eyes. After a couple seconds of silence, he turned his gaze toward the wall, frowning in concentration. "And you can't call them?"

Celaena shook her head again. "They find me when they want to—that's the way it always was. Right now, that's the problem. I can't stay like this, and I don't know how to get reglamoured."

"There isn't anywhere you can look?"

"No," Celaena said vehemently. "I already told you no. The swamp was the only place, and I was there all night."

"But you're a faerie too. Don't you have any abilities?"

"I don't know," Celaena said, thinking of Chaol. That was definitely not something she really wanted to discuss right now. Her head hurt enough already.

"Can you cast any spells?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know! Can't you understand that I don't know anything at all?"

"Come on in the back. Let's go online."

They went into Dorian’s room, and he plopped down in front of his desk, and turned on his desktop computer. 

Celaena flopped onto the tangled sheets of his bed, stomach down.

Dorian tapped a few keys. "Okay. F-a-e-r-i-e. Let's see. Hmmm. Gay stuff—don't go there."

She snickered anyway.

"Here we go. German changelings. Pixies. Yeats poetry.  _ kharankui. _ "

"Apparently, I'm a high fae," Celaena supplied. "Click on the pixie thing, though."

"Interesting."

He scrolled through it, and she tried to read it from her slightly-too-distant vantage point. "What?"

"Pixies can detect good and evil, hate orcs, and are about one to two feet tall…" He started to laugh. "Makes pixie dust."

"Orcs?" Celaena inquired. She shifted her position, feeling her back muscles move and shift. Without the presence of her whip scars, her skin feels like it’s crawling.

Dorian couldn't stop laughing. "Pixie dust. Like angels make angel dust. International drug cartels grab seraphim and shake 'em. Priests who sweep up churches put that stuff in Ziploc baggies."

She snorted. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"I try," he said, still laughing.

“Look up ‘high fae.’”

She heard the tap of his keyboard, then “high fae. Basically like the Beyoncé of all fae. Could pass for human, maybe, even though their sharp features make them look nothing but ‘ethereal.’ They also delight the most in human suffering! Epic!”

She shuddered despite his joking tone.

"Well, try ‘Dark Court.'"

A few clicks of his mouse and he said, "Looks like that's where all the bad guys hang out in Faeryland. What does this have to do with you?"

"There's this knight there who may or may not be wanting to kill me. My friends want me to pretend to be human because there's this thing called the Tithe… it's complicated."

Dorian sat up again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just told you the part that made sense."

"Okay." Dorian nodded. "Now tell me the part that doesn't make sense."

"I don't understand it all exactly, but basically there are Bright Court faeries and Dark Court faeries. The Queen of the Dark Court wanted to be the supreme ruler or whatever, and killed the king of the Bright Court so she could rule over both courts. Rowan is one of the Dark court faeries, well, formerly Bright Court, but that’s another story. I met him in the woods after he got shot.."

"Okay. I'm still with you, if barely."

"Gavriel and Lysandra sent me an acorn message to tell me that he was dangerous. He killed my other friend, Sam."

"An acorn message?"

"The top came off. It was hollow."

"Right. Of course."

"Ha-ha. Look for 'Tithe' next, okay? As far as I know, it's this sacrifice that makes the faeries that aren't part of the Dark Court still do what the Dark Court people say. I have to pretend to be human so they can pretend to sacrifice me."

He typed in the keyword. "I'm just getting Jesus Crispy shit. Give-me-ten-percent-of-your-cash-to-me-so-I-can-buy-an-air-conditioned-doghouse kind of thing. This sacrifice—how safe is that? I mean, how well do you know these people?"

"I trust them absolutely…"

"But," Dorian prompted.

She smiled ruefully. "But they never told me. They knew all this time, and nothing—not one hint." Celaena looked pensively at the joints of her fingers. Why should one extra joint make them horrifying? It did, though—flexing them bothered her.

Dorian steepled his palms, cracking his knuckles like a villain. "Tell me the whole story again, slowly, and from the beginning."

**********

Celaena woke up muzzily, not sure where she was. She shifted until she felt a solid shape that groaned and pushed at her. Dorian. She squinted at him and rubbed at her eyes. It was dark in the room, the only streaks of light sneaking around the edges of the heavy brown curtains. She heard voices from somewhere in the house over the distant sound of canned television laughter.

She turned over again, trying to go back to sleep. The bedside table was in front of her line of vision. A book, Vintage, a bottle of ibuprofen, an alarm clock with flames on the clock face, and a black plastic chess knight. A book with a black-widow-looking spider on the cover.

A spider.

"Dorian," she said, shaking what she thought was the shoulder of the lump. "Wake up. I know what to do. I know what we can do."

He pushed the covers back from over his head. His eyes were slits of wet in the piles of comforter. "This better be good," he groaned.

"The  _ kharankui _ ." She said. “I think I know how to find a  _ kharankui _ .”

“The  _ kharankui?  _ I can’t tell if you’re joking or not. Like those giant spider  _ kharankui?  _ Those  _ kharankui?” _

“Are you a broken record? Yes, the  _ kharankui.  _ We live in the right next to the largest mountain range in Erilea, and if there is any place on this continent we would find some gargantuan fucking spiders, its there. Think about it —ever since we were kids, we’ve always been warned about ‘ _ what lies in the shadows of the Staghorns’.  _ Well, legend has it that the  _ kharankui  _ are guardians of some kind of gate; but what if its not a gate at all — what if it's more like an entrance. An entrance to the faerie courts. It can't be a coincidence. The entrance to the faerie courts is what lies in the shadow of the Staghorns. The  _ kharankui  _ guard the entrance to one of the faerie courts, and I intend to find out which one. If I can find a  _ kharankui _ , I can convince it to teach me magic and let me into the court. It’s simple.”

He looked at her like she had grown a third head, and considering everything that happened last night, that seemed more and more likely. "Right. That's right. Ok, sure. Giant spiders in the mountains. How about that," he grumbled, and slid out of bed. The screensaver dispersed as he shook the mouse.

In the hallway, Celaena could hear Nehemia’s voice distinctly, complaining to Georgina about the fact that she wasn't going to get her license if Dorian didn't let her borrow his car.

A few minutes later, Dorian made a noise.

She looked up.

"Your plan has one little problem."

"Don't they all… no, tell me, what is it?"

" _ kharankui  _ basically like to trap people in their spidersilk webs and then eat most of them—all but their guts. You're not supposed to bargain with them, yadda, yadda, yadda, they're fucking evil as hell, yadda, yadda, yadda, not to mention they shapeshift."

"Oh."

"Did you ever wonder if some of these sites were designed by faeries? I wonder if I kept looking if I could find a newsgroup or a hub page or something."

"So, if we don't get trapped in its web, are we safe?"

"Huh? Oh… I don't know."

"Well, are there instances there where it eats people without them getting stuck in their webs?"

"No, but then it's not all that comprehensive."

"I'm going to try it. I'm going to talk to it."

He looked up from the computer desk. "You're not going without me."

"Okay," Celaena said. "I just thought that it might be dangerous."

"This is the real thing," he said, voice dropping low, "and I don't want to miss even one little bit of it. Don't even think of running off."

She held up both hands in mock surrender. "I want you to go with me. Really, okay?"

"I don't want to wake up someplace with a screwed-up memory and nobody ever believing me. Do you understand?" Dorian’s face was flushed.

"C'mon, Dorian, either your mom or Nehemia is going to hear you and come in here. I'm not leaving you."

Celaena watched as he calmed somewhat, thinking that she should stop trying to anticipate what was going to happen next. After all, when you were already in a slippery place, reality-wise, you couldn't afford to assume that things would be straightforward from here on in.

**********

The metal of the car made her feel heavy and drowsy and sick, the way that carbon monoxide poisoning was supposed to make you feel before it killed you. Celaena rested her cheek against the cool glass of the window. Her throat was dry and her head was pounding. It had something to do with the air in the car, which seemed to scald her lungs as she breathed it. It was a short drive, and she was glad of it, practically tumbling out of the car when Dorian opened the door for her.

In the daylight, it was easy to see the seemingly infinite mountain range. They followed the river snaking up the mountain; it was thick with garbage. Dorian leaned down and smeared dirt off a brown bottle that didn't look like it was for beer. It looked like it should be holding some snake-oil salesman's hair tonic or something.

"Vaseline glass," he said. "Some of this stuff is really old. I bet you could sell some of these." He pushed another bottle with his toe. 

They kept on hiking up the mountain until they found an eerie looking cave. If Celaena was a creepy life-sized spider, this is where she would hide. 

“Here.” She stopped. They both went silent and peered into the cave.

Dorian broke the silence."So, how do we call this thing?"

“I don’t exactly know… I’m just assuming this is where? I don’t know it's just, like, this gut feeling I have,” she finally admitted with a grimace."Do you have anything sharp?"

He looked at her with a disapproving look and reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pocketknife, and flicked it open with a deft movement of his thumb. "Just remember what the site said—no getting caught in its web, and no making bargains, no way, no day, no matter what."

"I saw the page, okay? You don't have to keep reminding me.  _ kharankui  _ equals evil mega spider that eats people for fun. I get it."

"Well, just so you're sure."

He let her take the knife. She slid the tip of it into the pad of her thumb. A bright dot of blood welled up, and she let it drop to the floor.

"Now what?" he asked, but for all that the words sounded cynical, he was barely breathing as he spoke them.

They ventured into the dark entrance of the cave, until they couldn’t see sunlight streaming in from the entrance. "I'm Celaena," she said, “I'm not from any court but I need your help. Please hear me."

There was a long moment of silence after that when Dorian let out his breath. She could see him start to believe that nothing was going to happen and she was torn between the desire to prove that she knew what she was doing and the fear of what was coming.

A moment later, there was no more doubt as a black, horse sized spider emerged from the endless void of the cave.

Its color was not so much black, but an violet so deep that it looked black. And the nacreous eyes were gleaming like pearls. Still, when it regarded Celaena, she was forced to think of the research Dorian had done. That was chilling enough.

When she looked at the walls, she noticed they were coated in webs. Spidersilk. 

The  _ kharankui  _ crawled out further from the depths. Celaena held up her hands, but it hardly helped.

"What do you seek?" the  _ kharankui _ spoke, its voice soft but deep.

Celaena took a deep breath. "I need to know how to glamour myself and I need to know how to control my magic. Can you teach me?"

“What will you give me, girl-child?"

"What do you want?"

"Perhaps that one would like to make a bargain. I would teach you if you made me a bargain, perhaps you might like some spidersilk? It is the softest and strongest material in all the lands. Why don’t you touch my webs and see fot yourself."

"So that you can kill us? No way."

"I wonder about death, I who may never know it. It looks much like ecstasy, the way they open their mouths as they struggle for breath, the way their fingers dig into your skin. Their eyes are wide and startled and they thrash in your hands as though with an excess of passion."

Celaena shook her head, horrified. She knew enough about death. She didn't want to hear anymore about it for as long as she was alive.

"You can hardly blame me. It is my nature. And it has been a very long time."

“I'm not going to help you kill people."

"There might be something else that would tempt me, but I can't think what. I'll give you the opportunity to think up something."

Celaena sighed.

"You know where to find me."

With that, the  _ kharankui  _ scuttled back into the darkness.

Dorian was still stunned. "That thing wanted to kill me."

Celaena nodded.

"Are you going to try to find something it wants?"

Celaena nodded again. "Yeah."

"I don't know how I feel about that. We were warned not to make bargains."

"You read the site. You knew it would have to be like this."

"I guess. It's different to see it… to hear it."

"Do you want us to leave?"

"Hell, no."

"Any ideas what it might want that doesn't walk on two feet?"

"Well," he said, after a moment's consideration, "actually there are a whole lot of people I wouldn't mind feeding to that thing."

She laughed.

"No, really," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that there are a whole lot of people that I wouldn't mind seeing eaten. Really. I think that we should go for it."

Celaena looked up at him. He didn't look particularly fazed by what he had just proposed.

"No way," she said.

Dorian shrugged. "Nehemia’s boyfriend, for example. What a douche."

"Chaol?" Celaena squeaked.

"Look, it doesn't have to be him. I could think of a dozen people. The best thing is that they're all so dumb I'm sure I would have no problem convincing them to come down here and wander into this deep, dark cave. I'm thinking that stupidity should have consequences. C'mon, we can do a little weeding of the human race." He waggled his eyebrows.

“We're not getting people killed, so just give it up, okay?"

She was getting sick of listening to Dorian’s sighs.

She bet that Rowan’s name would be a fair price. She bet that he would be counted as a fair price indeed. And it wouldn't change the fact that she knew the name too.

It would be a fine revenge on him for killing Sam.

But then, she imagined that the  _ kharankui _ would just order him to bring people for it to eat. And he would do it.

What else was there to safely bargain away that a  _ kharankui _ might like?

She thought about the dolls in her basement, but all she could picture was a little girl following a trail of them up the mountain, and into the cave. Ditto with any musical instrument. She had to think about something that the  _ kharankui _ could enjoy alone… clothing? Food?

Then she thought of it… a companion. A companion that would never die. Something that it could talk to and admire. The merry-go-round dragon.

"Oh, Dorian," Celaena said, "I know just the thing."

Getting back in the car was the last thing that Celaena wanted to do, but she did, sliding into the backseat, pressing her shirt over her mouth as though the fabric could filter the iron out of the air.

"You know where you're going, right?" she asked, wondering if he could understand the words, muffled as they were by the cloth.

"Yeah."

She let her head slide down to the plastic seat. There were no words for what she felt, no sounds, nothing. There was no word for what she was, no explanation that would keep back the numb, dumb dark. She felt the dizziness threaten to overwhelm her.

"Can you please open your window?" she asked. "I can't breathe."

"What's wrong with yours?"

She crouched on the edge of the seat and reached her hands into the front of the car, palms up like a supplicant. "Every time I touch the handle, it burns. Look." She held her hand out to him, and he could see that part of it was flushed. Her fingers wiggled. "That's from the door handle."

"Shit." Dorian took a breath, but he could not seem to let it go. He rolled down his window.

The moisture in the air cleaned her throat with each lungful from the open window, but it wasn't enough to battle the rising nausea. "I have to get out of this car."

"We're almost there." Dorian stopped at the red light.

Dorian parked the car outside the big building. It was strange to see it in the daytime. The overcast sky made the outside of the building look even dingier.

"Are you okay?" Dorian asked, and turned his head to see her in the backseat.

Celaena shook her head. She was going to vomit, right there, right on top of the empty soda cans and mashed fast-food boxes. She put her hand in the pocket of the sweatshirt and opened the door.

"Celaena! What are you doing?"

Celaena half fell, half crawled onto the asphalt of the parking lot and dragged herself to the edge of the grass before she started vomiting. There was little in her stomach, and most of what she coughed up was stomach acid and spittle. She hated this feeling. Hated feeling weak.

"Jesus!" Dorian crouched down next to her.

"I'm okay," Celaena said, rising dizzily to her feet. "It's all the metal."

He nodded, looking back at the car and then looking around skeptically. "Maybe we should forget about this."

Celaena took a deep breath. "No. Come on."

She ran around the back, following the path she had walked with Nehemia. "Give me your jacket," she said. "There's glass."

Everything was different in daylight.

Up the stairs and there it was, dingier now that she got a good look at it, but still beautiful. It’s scales were closer to a brown, and the gilt trim was mostly rubbed off. Its lips were carved in what she thought was a slight sneer, and Celaena grinned to see it.

Together, they dragged the dragon over the floor toward the stairs. Leaning forward, the weight of it was resting on Dorian as they eased it down step after step. It barely fit.

Downstairs, Celaena climbed out through the window as Dorian pushed it carefully through.

Outside, Dorian started to panic. There was no way it was going to fit in the back of the car. Worse, the trunk was filled with boxes of used books.

"Someone is going to see us!"

"We've got to find a way to tie it to the roof."

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Dorian dug around in the trunk of the car and came up with a single bungee cord, two plastic bags, and some twine.

"That string is very thin," Celaena said skeptically.

Dorian twisted it around the wooden creature's neck and body and then through the inside of the car. "Get on the other side. Someone's going to see us. Hurry."

He tossed her the twine, and she looped it over the horse and threw it back to him. Dorian knotted it.

"Okay. Good enough. We gotta go."

Dorian hopped in on his side, and Celaena walked around and got in, wrapping Dorian’s jacket around her hand to close the door. He took off, stepping on the pedal so hard that the tires screeched as they pulled out.

Celaena was sure that each car that pulled up behind them was going to be a cop or that the dragon was going to fly off onto the road or hit another car. But they got back in one piece.

Pulling over, they hauled the merry-go-round horse down into the forest and up the mountains to the cave.

"That thing better like this. I'm going to have splinters for a week."

"It will."

Celaena peered into the endless darkness, and Dorian took the knife out of his pocket without being asked. "'S okay. I'm just going to pick the scab."

They set the wingless dragon down once they got far enough into the cave, angling it so that it sat relatively upright without their holding it. 

He made a face but didn't say anything.

" _ kharankui _ ," Celaena said, letting her blood splatter on the ground, "I have something I think you might like."

The spider emerged from the deep and stared at the crippled merry-go-round dragon.

Giving a small roar, it scuttled up onto the shore. "It has no legs," the  _ kharankui _ said.

"It's beautiful anyway," Celaena said.

The  _ kharankui _ circled the wooden thing, snuffling appraisingly. "More, I think. Crippled things are always more beautiful. It's the flaw that brings out beauty."

Celaena grinned. She'd done it. She'd actually done it. "So you'll teach me?"

The creature looked at Celaena and shifted, and where it had been now stood a young man, nude, hair tangled with rushes. It looked from Celaena to Dorian. "She I will teach, but you must make it worth my while if you want me to teach you too. Come feel my webs, there is nothing like them in all the lands."

"Nothing's worth that," Celaena said.

The  _ kharankui _ -man smiled, but his eyes were on Dorian as he traced a pattern on his chest. Dorian’s breathing went shallow.

"No," Dorian said, so softly that it was hard to hear his voice.

Then the creature transformed again, sinuous energy coiling until Celaena was looking at herself.

"Are you ready to begin then?" the  _ kharankui _ said in Celaena’s voice with Celaena’s mouth. And then the smile, not at all Celaena’s, curled slyly. "I have much to teach you. And the boy would do well to listen. Magic is not the sole province of the fey."

"I thought you said he had to make it worth your while."

"His fear is worth something, for now. I am allowed so little consolation." The  _ kharankui _ looked at her with her own golden rimmed blue eyes, and she watched those lips, so like her own, whisper, "So long since I have known what it was to hunt."

"How come?" Celaena asked, despite herself.

"We, who are not the rulers, we must obey those that are. Mortals are a treat for the high fae, and not for the likes of me. Unless, of course, they are willing."

Celaena nodded, pondering that.

"Do you know how it feels to build magical energy?" the  _ kharankui _ asked. "It is a prickling feeling. Cup your hand and concentrate on building the energy in it. What does it feel like?"

Celaena cupped her hand and imagined the air in her hand thickening and shimmering with energy. After a moment, she looked up in surprise. "It feels like when your hand falls asleep and then you move it. Prickly, like you said, like little shocks of energy shooting through it. It hurts a little."

"Move it back and forth between your hands. There you feel magic in its raw state, ready to become whatever you want it to be."

Celaena nodded, cradling the energy that was like a handful of nettles, letting some of it trickle through her open fingers. It was a feeling she remembered, sometimes coiling in her gut or pricking over her lips before some strange thing happened.

"Now, how did you accomplish raising the energy? What did you do?"

Celaena shook her head slightly. "I don't know… I just pictured it and stared at my hand."

"You pictured it. That is the easiest of the senses. Now you must learn to hear it, to smell it, to taste it. Only then will your magic become real. And be careful; sometimes a simple glamour can be seen through out of the corner of another's eye." The creature winked.

Celaena nodded.

"When you do magic, there are two stages: focus and surrender. Surrender is the part that so many do not understand.

"To do magic, you must focus on what it is you want to do, then let go of the energy and trust it to do your bidding.

"Close your eyes. Now picture the energy surrounding you. Imagine, for example, a ring on one of your fingers. Add detail to it. Imagine the gold of the band, then imagine the gem, its color, its clarity, how it will reflect the light… that's right. Exactly like that."

Her eyes fluttered open as Dorian gasped. "Celaena! There really is a ring on your finger. A real, imaginary ring. I can see it."

Celaena opened her eyes, and there it was, on her index finger, just as she had imagined it, the silver carved into the shape of a girl and the glittering emerald set in her open mouth. She turned it against the light, but even knowing that she had magicked it into being, the ring was as solid as a stone.

"What about undoing… things?" Celaena asked.

The  _ kharankui _ threw back its head and laughed, white teeth shining even in the gloom. "What have you done?"

"Enchanted someone to… like me," Celaena said, in a low voice. Dorian looked at her, surprised and a little annoyed. He wasn't going to be happy that there was another part of the story she'd left out. Especially if that person was his former best friend.

The  _ kharankui _ grinned and clucked its tongue. "You must remove the enchantment on him in the same way that you would take off a glamour. Feel the web of your magic, reach out and tear it. Practice with the ring."

Celaena concentrated, closing her eyes, letting the energy swirl around her, feeling it run through her. It seemed to ebb and flow with each beat of her heart. When she opened her eyes, the ring was gone.

As they walked out of the cave, she imagined a fire, cracking and burning. 

She looked down; there was a small flame burning brightly in the palm of her hand

**********

They were trudging back down the mountain when Celaena pointed to a hill. "Look at those lights. Wonder who's up there."

"I don't see anything." He looked at her sharply.

Cemetery Hill was a large sloping hill located on the east side of the largest mountain in the Staghorn mountain range. In the winter kids would blithely go sledding, piling spare mittens and scarves on the monuments. An abandoned, half-built mausoleum stood at the base of one gently sloping side. With two levels but no roof, the top was overgrown with smallish trees and vines. There were dozens upon dozens of monuments, tombs, and gravestones erected around it. The sun was setting fast, and the mountain cast a long shadow over the graveyard.

_ what lies in the shadows of the Staghorns _

_ “ _ That’s where it is — the entrance to the faerie courts. It has to be.”

"I want to see it."

They walked into the graveyard. They followed the small creatures walking towards the center. 

"Those are definitely faeries," Celaena said.

"I can't see anything." There was an edge of panic in Dorian’s voice.

Celaena followed the lights, saw them dazzle and turn, keeping just enough ahead of her that she could not see them clearly. She sped up her pace, boots crunching the frost-stiffened grass. They were so close she could just snatch one out of the air…

"Celaena!" Dorian called, and she turned. "Don't fucking leave me behind and make me have to wonder if I'm a goddamn nutcase for the rest of my life."

"I'm not leaving you! I'm trying to catch one of these things."

Suddenly there was an impossible explosion of fireflies, darting in and out of the trees. It must be well past midnight and too late in the season for fireflies anyway, the chill of autumn and recent rain stiffening the grass beneath their feet with frost. But the insects darted around them, each blinking for a long moment, then gone, then blinking again. Then she looked at them carefully. They were little winged creatures, even smaller than those she had snatched at. One flitted close to her and showed its teeth.

Celaena made a shrill sound.

"What?" Dorian said.

"Not bugs… they're tiny, nasty faeries."

He dropped Celaena’s hand and snatched at one, although it darted out of his grip. "I can't see anything. Are those the things… what you saw from the trail?"

She shook her head. "No. Those lights were bigger."

He squatted down, his breath rising from his lips in puffs of white vapor. "Can you see them now?"

She shook her head. "Lys said something about the opening being in a brown patch of grass, but practically the whole hill is covered with brown grass."

"Maybe the patch is bare by now."

Celaena knelt down next to Dorian and cupped her ear to the ground. There was faint music. "Listen. You can hear it."

He moved to her side and pressed his ear to the ground as well. "Music," he said. "Sounds like pipes."

"It's beautiful," she said, the smile on her face before she remembered that this was not a good place they were trying to enter.

"Let's walk a circuit around the hill. We'll both look for any patch that seems weird." Dorian stretched from his squat and waited for her to start walking.

The graveyard was unnaturally quiet. The moon was, if anything, fuller and fatter than it had been when she last saw it. It seemed unnatural; the thing looked bloated in the sky, and she thought again about the sun bleeding to death while the moon grew tumescent with devoured light. Creatures that looked suspiciously like  _ kharankui  _ were hiding behind tombstones and high up in the trees.

The newer, granite gravestones were all polished to an unnatural mirror shine that reflected her and Dorian as they passed. The older markers were a pale, milky marble, grass stains and dirt washed out by the moonlight. Pale as Rowan’s hair.

"Hey, what about that?" Dorian pointed to a patch of grass that did seem a different shade of brown.

Kneeling down beside it, Dorian pulled back a corner as though it were the flap of a sod tent. Dorian leaned in.

"No," Celaena said. "I have to go in there alone."

"I want this," Dorian said. "You said you wouldn't leave me behind."

"It's probably not safe for me to go. I'll be back as soon as I can." Celaena shimmied into the entrance. "I promise."

The music seemed louder now, pipes and laughter swelling in the quiet night. Celaena heard Dorian say "You get to have all the fun" as she followed the song inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally changed the interaction with the kharankui 4 TIMES originally it was a normal wyvern then i was like oh it would be cool if it was a river wyvern then I was like no that’s stupid and changed it to a Stygian spider then i was like wait they’re in the Staghorns why would there be Stygian spiders and the kharankui are on the southern continents but oh well it made the most sense I will continue to take many creative liberties from here on out. 
> 
> Drop a comment and/or leave kudos! Thank you for giving this story a chance!


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot belongs to holly black and character belong to sjmaas and I will say it every time cus they are amazing and I take credit for literally nothing

She slipped inside the hollow hill.

The air itself seemed thick with sweetness, and breathing was disorienting.

Long, low tables were heaped with golden pears, chestnuts, bowls of bread soaking in buttery milk, pomegranates ripped in half and half again, violet petals on crystal plates, and all manner of strange delicacies. Wide silver goblets sat like toads on the tables, upright and overturned in equal proportion. Scarlet-clad faerie ladies brushed past men in torn rags, and courtiers danced with crones.

Revelers danced and sang, drank and swooned. The costumes were varied and completely unlike medieval clothes. They were more like some demented, organic couture. Collars rose like great fins. Outfits were composed entirely of petals or leaves. Ragged edges finished off lovely dresses. Ugly, strange, or lovely as the moon, none were plain.

"The Dark Court," she said aloud. It had to be. She didn't understand how the entrance to the Dark Court was in Erilea; she thought the Dark Court was only in Wendlyn. This must be some type of portal? She had no idea, and no way to get answers. All she knew was that she was in the Dark Court, and she would not be afraid.

She had expected something else, a cave, maybe, filled with gnawed human bones and faerie prisoners. Something simple. Looking out into the throng of revelers, she didn't know what to think.

The room itself was massive, so large that she wasn't sure what was on the other side. Far across the room, what looked like a giant, slouched near a dais. Each step seemed to push her in a new direction, full of splendors. A fiddler was playing an improbable instrument, with several necks and so many strings that the fiddler sawed his bow at them wildly. A long-nosed woman with freckles and ears like a jackal's juggled pinecones. Three men with red hair and double rows of shark teeth dipped their caps in a pile of carnage, soaking up the blood. A huge creature with bat wings and limbs like stilts sat atop a table and lapped at a beaten copper bowl of cream. It hissed at Celaena as she passed it.

Above them all, the domed ceiling was frescoed with dangling roots.

Celaena picked up a goblet off a table. It was ornate and very heavy, but it seemed clean. She poured a thin, reddish liquid from the silver carafe in the center of the table. Small seeds floated at the top, but the drink smelled pleasant and not entirely strange, so she took a swallow of it. It was both sweet and bitter and went to her head so that, for a moment, she was obliged to hold the table for support.

She took a silvery apple from a pile of strange, thorny fruit, turned it over in her hand, and gingerly bit into it. It was crimson on the inside and tasted like watery honey. It was so good that she ate it core and all, till she was licking her hand for juice. The next was brown and rotten-looking as she bit into it, but the meat, though gritty, tasted of a fiery and sweet liquor.

She felt an infectious giddiness come over her. Here, nothing she did was strange. She could twirl and dance and sing. She had forgotten what it was like to live without baggage — to be completely and utterly free.

All at once she was aware of how far into the crowd she had gone. She had been turned around so many times she no longer even knew which direction was the way back.

She deliberately tried to retrace her steps. Three women walked past her, silver gowns trailing like fine mist. The low cut of the identical dresses showed off the women's hollow backs. She looked again, but their concave backs were as smooth and empty as bowls. She forced herself to keep moving. A short man—a dwarf?—with intricate silver bracelets and shoulder-length black curls leered at her as he bit into an apricot.

Every moment became more unreal.

A winged boy skipped up to her, grinning.

"You smell like iron," he said, and reached out a finger to poke her side.

Celaena scuttled away from his hand to a chorus of laughter. Her eyes focused on the pale grasshopper green of the insect wings attached to the boy's back.

She pushed through the crowd, weaving past dancers leaping in complex intertwining circles, past a clawed hand that snatched at her ankle from beneath the heavy scarlet cloth on one of the tables, past what looked like a debauched living chess game.

A satyr with a curly beard and ivory horns was hunched over, carefully ripping the wing off a small faerie trapped in his meaty fist. The thing screeched, beating its other wing hummingbird-swift against the fingers that held it. Pale green blood dribbled over the goat-man's hand. Celaena stopped, stunned and sickened to watch as the satyr tossed the little creature in the air. It flew in desperate circles, spiraling to the earthen floor.

Before Celaena could step close and snatch it, the man's boot stamped down, smearing the faerie into the dust.

Celaena was furious. That faerie did not deserve to die like that.

She charged the satyr and kicked him to the floor. She pushed her leg down onto his neck and injected her tone with malice. “Why don’t you try to pick on someone your own size?”

She satyr looked back at her with fear in her eyes. She pushed on his neck harder.

“No! No! No no no no — no. I’ll pass. I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”

Celaena’s lips curled into a smirk. “You better not, lest you want my foot replaced with a knife.”

She turned around and left the satyr red-faced and gaping behind her.

Angling through the multitudes, she thought of her own foolishness in coming here. This was the Dark Court. This was the worst of Faerieland come to drink themselves sick.

Three men in shimmering green coattails, their arms and legs long and skinny as broomsticks, were pushing a doe-eyed boy with grasshopper legs between them. He crouched warily as if to spring, but each time was unprepared for a sudden grab or push.

"Leave him alone," Celaena said, stepping up to them. There was only one thing in life she hated more than Arobynn Hammel — and that was innocent people being hurt. Even though she was out of her element, she would not let this stand. 

And the boy reminded her too much of Sam for her to just watch. 

The men turned to look at her, all of them identical. The boy tried to slip between them, but one of the skinny men locked his arm around the boy's neck.

"What's this?" a skinny man asked.

"I'll trade you something for him," Celaena said, distracting them as she grabbed a small dinner knife from a nearby table and hid it behind her back.

One of the men snickered, and the other drew a little knife with an ivory handle and a metal blade that stank of pure iron. The third threaded his hand through the boy's hair, tipping his head back, allowing the other to angle his knife towards the boy's eye.

"No!" Celaena yelled, letting the knife in her hand fly. Her knife clanged against the faerie’s, and sent both knives to the floor. All three of the fae looked at her like she was nothing more than a fly, a nuisance. They chuckled.

Celaena stumbled back, reaching around on a nearby table, finding only a goblet. She hefted it like a small club, not exactly sure what she was going to do with it. Then she remembered her lessons —  _ anything can be a weapon if you try hard enough _ .

"We're not going to kill him," the man who was holding the boy's hair said.

"Just softening him up a bit," another said.

Fury surged up in her. The cup flew from her hand, hitting the shoulder of the fae holding the boy’s hair, spotting his coat with droplets of the wine it had contained before falling ineffectually to the dirt floor, where it rolled in helpless circles. She had distracted them well enough.

After years and years of fighting, every movement, every deflection, every attack, came naturally to her. She let her mind go on autopilot while her body did the rest. She didn't have to think, she had been drilled enough to know what to do. And she knew these fae were more bark than bite.

Soon enough, all three of the offending fae were on the ground, hog-tied with twine. Celaena smiled, admiring her handiwork. She might hate Arobynn with a burning passion, but there were moments like this, moments where she defended the defenseless, that made her training worth it. She would suffer a thousand times over if she could help just one person.

Noticing she had attracted a small crowd, Celaena pushed through the throng, not wanting to attract any more attention than she already had.

Then she came to a sudden halt. Half hidden by three toad-skinned creatures hunched over a game of dice, there was Dorian.

He was wedged against an overturned table, a goblet tipped in his hand. He was rocking back and forth with his eyes shut. A puddle of wine was soaking his pants, but he didn't seem to care.

Revelers were packed in tightly around her, so she scuttled under the table.

"Dorian?" Celaena said, breathing hard.

Dorian was right in front of her, but didn't seem to see her.

She shook him.

He noticed that and finally glanced up. He looked drunk, or worse than drunk. Like he'd been drunk for years.

"I know you," Dorian said thickly.

"It's me, Celaena."

"Celaena?"

"What are you doing here?"

"They said it wasn't for me."

"What wasn't for you?"

The hand with the goblet in it stirred slightly.

"The wine?"

"Not for me. So I drank it. I want everything that's not for me."

"What happened to you?"

"This," he said, and twitched his mouth into something that might have been a smile. "I saw him."

She looked quickly back into the throng. "Who?"

Dorian pointed toward a raised dais where tall, pale faeries spoke together and drank from silver cups. "Your boy. Ronan of the Silver Hair. At least I think it was."

"What was he doing?"

Dorian shook his head. It hung limply from his neck.

"Are you going to be sick?" she said.

He looked up into her face and smiled. "I am sick."

"I'm going to find him," Celaena said.

She looked at Dorian, who was muttering, wiping the inside of his goblet with a finger that he brought to his lips.

"Wait for me here, okay? Don't go anywhere."

He didn't make any reply, but she doubted that he could stand anyway. He looked well and truly wasted.

Celaena reentered the throng, weaving toward where Dorian had pointed.

A woman with thick braids of onyx hair sat on a tall wooden throne with edges that came to worn peaks and spires. It was wormed through with termite holes, giving it the appearance of a lattice. At her feet, goblins gamboled.

Rowan walked up to the throne and went down to one knee.

Celaena had to get closer. She couldn't see. Then she noticed there was a small indentation in the wall where she could hide herself, close enough to observe what was going to happen. She would watch and she would find a way to make him sorry for what he had done.

**********

Rowan Enda Whitethorn walked through the crowd, past a table where a sprite was squirming in an ogre's embrace, perhaps with pleasure, perhaps in dread. His old self would have stopped, surely. Not now. His silver blade was at his hip, but his Queen awaited him and he had learned to be a good little slave and so he passed on.

Queen Maeve, Queen of the Dark and Bright Courts, stood with her courtiers gathered around her. Inky hair blew around a white face inset with violet eyes, and he found himself halted once again by her cold beauty. Four goblins frolicked at her side. One tugged at her skirts like a toddler. Rowan dropped to his knees and bent his head. He kissed the earth in front of her.

He didn't want to be here tonight. His chest still ached, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and close his eyes. But when he did close his eyes, all he saw was the human girl's face, full of shock and horror as he pushed her down on the dirty floor of a diner.

"You may rise," the Queen said. "Approach me. I have a task to set you to."

"I am yours," Rowan said, brushing the soil from his lips.

She smiled a little smile. "Are you? And do you serve me as well as you served Orlon?"

He hesitated before answering. "Better, perhaps, for you try me harder."

The smile curled off her mouth. "You would jibe with me?"

"Your pardon, my Queen. I mean no scorn. It is seldom merry work you set me to."

She laughed at that, silvery cold laughter that rose up out of her throat like crows going to wing. "You have no tongue for courtliness, knight. Yet I find you still please me. Why is that?"

"Sport, my Queen?" he ventured.

Her eyes were hard, and her smile was beyond loveliness. "Certainly not wisdom. Rise. I understand that I have a mortal girl to thank for your presence here tonight."

His face was grave as he stood; he made sure of that. It would not do to let his surprise show. "I was careless."

"What a fine girl she must be. Do tell us about her." A few of the fae that attended her smiled openly, watching this game as eagerly as they would a duel.

He was careful, so careful to keep the flinch from his face. His voice had to be easy; his words could not seem to be carefully measured. "She said that she was known to a few Bright Court fae. She had the Sight. A clever girl, and a kind one."

The Queen smiled at that. "Was it not the Bright Court fae that shot you, knight?"

He nodded and could not keep the ghost of a smile off his face. "I suppose they are not all so closely allied, my Queen."

Oh, she didn't like that. He could tell. "I have an idea, then," his Queen said, raising one delicate finger to her smiling lips. "Get us this girl. The Tithe to the Bright Court fae will cement their loyalty. A young girl gifted with the second sight would be an excellent candidate."

"No," he said. It was a sharp bark, a command, and courtiers' heads turned at the sound. He felt the bile rise in the back of his throat. Not clever, that. He was not being clever.

Queen Maeve’s smile bent her lips in triumph. "I might point out that if they do know her it will be just the thing to remind them not to break my toys," the Queen said. She did not mention his outburst.

There was a jibe in that meant for him, her toy, but he hardly heard it. He was already watching the girl die. Her lips were already cursing him with his true name.

"Let me find you another," he heard himself say. Once his Queen might have found it amusing for him to struggle with that, finding an innocent to take the place of another innocent.

"I think not. Bring me the girl two days hence. Perhaps after I see her, I will reconsider. Cairn has just come from the Bright Court. Perhaps he could be persuaded to assist you in finding her."

His gaze flickered to the other knight, who appeared to be speaking to a goat-footed poetess and ignoring their conversation. It made Rowan queasy just to look at the whip strapped across his back. Rowan had seen that whip in use — and the delighted look on Carin’s face whilst he relished his victims screams. He wore a cloak lined with thorns, only adding to his fearsome demeanor. Since the exchange of the two courts' best knights, Cairn was sworn under oath to Orlon. With the late Bright Court King's death, Cairn was freed from his oath, but chose to stay amongst the Bright Court fae working as an emissary of sorts. Rowan had not the slightest idea as to why; Cairn would clearly be more at home with the Dark Court fae’s love of violence.

He bowed low enough for his knee and brow to touch the earth, but her attention was already elsewhere.

He walked through the crowd, passing the table where he had seen the ogre. Nothing remained of the couple save three drops of cherry blood and the shimmery powder of the sprite's wings.

His oaths cut him like fine wire.

**********

Celaena watched Rowan sweep off the dais, fighting down the feelings that seemed to be clawing their way up her throat.  _ A clever girl and a kind one _ . Those simple words had sped her heart in a way she didn't like at all.

Did he know that his voice had softened when he'd spoken of her?

_ He is so unpredictable that even his Queen cannot trust him. He's as likely to be kind as to kill you. _

Celaena rose as another knight approached the Queen and bowed low to press his lips to the hem of her dress.

"Rise, Cairn," the Queen said. His slim figure rose with the same graceful, measured formality that Rowan had. This knight was wearing a whip strapped across his back, and a cloak embossed with thorns. There was something about the cruelness in his eyes that Celaena found familiar. His smile was nothing less than wicked.

The Queen smiled too. "It is good to have you home in time for the Tithe, Cairn. Perhaps you can help my knight acquire our sacrifice."

"It would be my honor. In fact, I think I have heard of a very suitable candidate indeed—she's already acquainted with members of the Bright Court."

Celaena was suddenly caught by the arm and turned. She yelped.

"You shouldn't be here." Rowan’s tone was icy, and his hand was tight on her arm.

She shouldn’t have been caught off guard like that. She knew better, and deserved the consequences. Taking a breath, she met his eyes. "I just wanted to hear the Queen."

"If one of her other knights had noticed you spying here, they would have undoubtedly enjoyed making an example out of you. This is no game, girl. It is too dangerous for you to be here."

_ Girl _ ? Then she remembered. He was seeing her fae form. Her vast height difference and knife-sharp features could make her look like a different person — or rather, fae — entirely. Her ethereal beauty was nothing compared to the mundane, subdued features of her human form.

He didn't know her, or at least he didn't know that he knew her. She let go a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding.

"I'm no concern of yours," she said, twisting in his grip. Surely he would let her go, she told herself, but Gavriel’s words echoed in her head. She saw Rowan on a black horse with glowing white eyes, face flecked with blood and dirt, eyes bright with frenzy, riding down poor Sam as he hurtled through the brush.

"Indeed?" He did not release his hold on her and was, in fact, pulling her through the crowd. From this vantage point it was easy to see that fae didn't just make way for him, they practically tripped over themselves to do so. "I am Queen Maeve’s sworn knight. Perhaps you should be more concerned about what I am going to do to you than what I might do for you."

She shuddered. "So what will you do?"

The knight sighed. "Nothing. Providing that you leave the brugh immediately."

_ Nothing _ ? She was not sure what she expected to see in his face when she looked at him then, but it was not the weariness she saw there. No madness glittered in the depths of those pale eyes.

But she couldn't leave, and she couldn't tell him that her very human friend was sleeping it off on the other side of the hill. She had to play this out. "I'm not allowed here? It doesn't seem like there's a guest list."

Rowan’s eyes darkened at that, and his voice dropped very low. "The Dark Court delights in torturing spies. We so seldom have volunteers for our amusements."

Her whole body tensed at the word  _ torturing.  _ She would end her own life before she would ever be tortured ever again.

She was on dangerous ground, now. The sadness in Rowan’s face was gone, and his features were carefully blank. Her stomach twisted.  _ Delights… our amusements. _ The implication of his participation was not lost on her.

"You can leave through here," he said, showing her an earthen tunnel that was not the one she had come through. This one was hidden by a chair and seemed closer to the giant. "But you must do it quickly. Now. Before someone sees me speaking with you."

"Why?" Celaena asked.

"Because they might assume that I had taken a liking to you. Then they might assume that it would be amusing to see my face while I hurt you very badly." Rowan’s tone was cold and flat. His words seemed to fall from his lips as though they meant nothing, just words dropping into darkness.

Her hands felt very cold as she remembered the diner. What would it be like to be a puppet? What would it be like to watch your own hands disobey you?

Fury rose up in her like a dark cloud. She didn't want to understand how he could have killed Sam. She didn't want to forgive him. And most of all, she didn't want to want him.

"Now, girl," he said, "go!"

"I don't know if I should believe you," she said. "Give me a kiss." If she couldn't stop thinking about his lips, maybe tasting them would get it out of her system. After all, if curiosity killed the cat, it was satisfaction that brought him back.

"There is no time for your snatched pranks," he said.

"If you want me to leave quickly, you'd best be quick." She was surprised at her own words, wondering at the giddy viciousness of them.

She was more amazed when his lips brushed across hers. A sudden shock of feeling lanced through her before he pulled away.

"Go," he said, but he said it in a whisper, as though she had drained the breath from him. His eyes were shadowed.

Celaena ducked through the tunnel before she was forced to think about just what she had done. And certainly before she had time to wonder how it had anything to do with revenge.

Outside, it was cold and bright. It didn't seem possible, but the night was past. A breeze made the remaining leaves shudder on their branches, and Celaena crossed her arms to seal in whatever warmth she could as she jogged across the hill. She knew where the brown patch of grass had been. It was simply a matter of getting inside again. If she just stuck to the wall, she thought, probably no one would notice her. Dorian would be there, and this time, she would pay better attention, mark the exit in some way.

The grass was no browner in one place than another. She remembered the location well enough. Next to the elm tree and by a grave marker that read Lochan. She dropped to her knees and dug, frantically clawing at the half-frozen topsoil. It was dirt and more dirt, hard-packed, as though there had never been a passageway to an underground palace.

"Dorian," she shouted, well aware that he would not be able to hear her deep beneath the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We just hit the halfway mark so buckle ur seatbelts its only gonna get worse from here LOL
> 
> Thank you for reading! Leave a kudos or comment you guys r amazing


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot belongs to Holly Black and the character belong to SJMAAS!

Dorian woke on the hillside to the sound of bells. He was shaking with cold. His teeth were chattering, his head felt thick and heavy, and just shifting his weight made his stomach lurch. His jacket was gone.

He was lying alone on a hill in a graveyard, and he had no idea how he had come to be there. A wave of dizziness hit him. He rolled weakly to one side and retched.

The taste of the wine he vomited brought back a memory of a man's mouth on his, a man's hands stroking him. Shocked, he tried to form a face to go along with that mouth and those hands, but his head hurt too much to remember any more.

He pulled himself to his feet, trying to keep his queasiness under control as he stumbled down the hill toward his car. Despite the lights being on all night, when he turned the key, the engine turned over and roared to life. Dorian flicked the heater on full blast and sat there, basking in the gush of hot air. His body shuddered with pleasure.

He knew that there was a bottle of aspirin under all the fast-food wrappers and discarded novels. He couldn't make himself move. He leaned his head back and waited for the warmth that was creeping through his limbs to relax him and chase away the nausea. Then he remembered Celaena in the backseat, and the beginning of the evening flooded back with disturbing intensity.

Celaena’s skin cracked and peeling, her strange new self stretched out in the car, the music… then alone on the hillside, tangled memories tripping over one another. He had heard stories like this—men and women waking on a hill, dreaming one night in Faerie. The hill never opened for them again. Angrily, he wondered if Celaena was there still, dancing to distant flutes, forgetting that he'd ever tagged along.

His stomach clenched as he thought of another explanation for being alone on the hill.

It was a memory, really, Celaena hunched over him whispering,  _ I'm going to find him. Wait for me here. _

Because the more that he thought about it, the more he remembered the brutal parts. The distant scream he couldn't place, the sight of some of the revelers, teeth red with blood, and the man, the man with the cloak of thorns who had found him sitting drunk in the dirt and…

He shook his head. It was hard to remember the specifics, only that soft mouth and the scraping of those thorns. His hands fluttered to the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them back. Angry red wounds running up and down his arms were incontrovertible proof of how he'd spent the night.

Just touching them filled him with a longing so intense it made him sick.

**********

Celaena stumbled in the backdoor. A quick look at the red digital numbers on the microwave told her that it was late morning.

Exhaustion settled over her as she strained to sense the wend and weft of magic in her fingers. She felt like a too-taut piece of string, fraying as it was pulled. She'd looked and looked, but there was no way back into the hill. Perhaps it opened only at dusk. She'd have to go back tonight, retrace the same path, and wait.

Her senses were overacute; the flimsy glamour she was wearing now was nothing like the one she had before. She could still smell the trash under the sink, even separate out smells—coffee grounds, eggshells, a bit of moldy cheese, detergents, some thick syrupy poison used to bait roach traps. The air thrummed with energy she had previously ignored. If she opened up to it, she might be able to leave her fatigue behind.

But she didn't want to—she wanted to cling to the facade of humanity with both fists.

"Celaena? Is that you?" Uncle Darrow came in from the other room. "Did you just get in?"

"Hi," Celaena said, yawning. She went over to the kitchen table and put her head down in her hands. It was almost a relief to just let her uncle yell at her, as if everything could be normal again.

"I called the school this morning."

Celaena forced herself not to groan.

"Did you know that you are not allowed to drop out of school without a parent or guardian’s written permission? According to your transcripts you haven't been in school since you left Orynth!"

Celaena shook her head.

"What does that mean? Was that a no?"

"I know I haven't been in school," Celaena said, disgusted at how childish her own voice sounded.

"Well, it's a good thing that you know, but I want to know what it is you have been doing. Where are you sneaking off to?"

"Nowhere," Celaena said in a small voice. "I just didn't want you to know. I knew you'd be mad."

"Well, why didn't you hightail it back to school then? Do you want to be nothing your whole life?"

“I was technically homeschooled until I was sixteen. I’ve only been out of school for a little less than two years. I can get my GED," Celaena said.

"Your GED? Like a drug dealer? Like a pregnant teenager? Do you want to wind up trailer trash?"

"Shut up!" Celaena yelled, holding her head. "You think you know everything about everything, don't you? You think that the world is so easy to understand. You don't know me at all—you don't know one single thing about me! How can you possibly know anything when you don't know anything about me?"

"I will not have you shouting at me in my own house. You think that if you just want and want then you're just going to magically get things."

_ Magically _ . Celaena felt her face twist with an expression somewhere between a wince and a smirk.

Darrow continued. "Nothing but hard work gets anyone anywhere. Even then, people don't get what they want. People just suffer, and no one knows why they suffer. Talented people don't make it, despite the talent, and what are you going to do then? You can't rely on luck. How do you know you're lucky?"

“How do  _ you  _ know I’m relying on luck? How dare you accuse me of that. You don’t know the first thing about me, about where I’ve been.”

“You think I don’t know where you’ve been? Oh, sweetie, you have no idea what I know — more than you ever will _._ I know who you _really_ are, even if you don’t. I know how you were raised, what you learned to do, _Ardarlan’s Assassin_. You hold this grudge against me for letting Arobynn take you, but honestly, what else could I do? The sight of you disgusted me, at ten years old _you_ _disgusted me_. You reminded me of everything I had lost, everything that was _taken_ from me _._ Your real uncle, Orlon —the one who sacrificed _everything_ for you, even though you didn’t know he existed — was the love of my life. Every time I looked at you all I could see was my failure, his sacrifice, and your parents' selfishness. I gladly let Arobynn take you away from me. You accuse me of not wanting you? You’re right. _No one wants you._ Aedion, your parents, your _friends_ didn’t want you, so why should I? You remind me that everything good I had in my life was taken from me. To protect you. _You._ A selfish, knowitall brat who didn’t—and still doesn’t— know who she is. Well I know who you are _Aelin Galathynius.”_

_ “Don’t call me that,”  _ Celaena hissed. That girl died seven years ago. 

She wasn’t sure that he heard her.

“And don’t bother with the weak glamour, I can see through it,” he said, looking at her like she was nothing more than a speck of dust on his shoulder.

She stood there stunned, frozen where she stood.

This time, he was the one to turn on his heel and leave her standing there with only her thoughts —and questions— to keep her company.

**********

Some hours later, her cell phone rang and woke her up. Celaena groaned and answered it.

"Hello," she said groggily. She hadn't managed more than a fitful sleep, tossing and turning. The blankets were too warm, but kicking them off had made her feel unsafe, exposed. Her dreams were too full of slit-eyed things poking her with clawed fingers.

"Fuck. You're there." She recognized the voice as belonging to Dorian. He sounded astonished and very relieved.

"Dorian! I got thrown out. I couldn't find a way back to you." She looked at the clock. It was one o'clock in the afternoon. "I thought maybe the hill was only open at night."

"I'm coming over."

She nodded and then, realizing he couldn't see her, spoke the thought aloud. "Yeah. Definitely. Come over. Are you okay?"

The phone clicked off, and she scrubbed a hand restlessly through her hair before letting her head fall back onto the pillow.

"The glamour looks good," was the first thing that Dorian said as he walked into her bedroom. 

_ And don’t bother with the weak glamour, I can see through it _

She blinked up at him, forcing her uncle’s words out of her head. "How did you get out? I was going crazy looking for you. If the cops had seen me they would have thought I was some nutjob grave robber trying to dig up bodies with my bare hands."

"I woke up outside the hill this morning. I figured that you'd ditched me and I was going to do a Rip Van Winkle and find out that it was the year 3000 and no one had ever even heard of me." He grinned wryly.

"Rowan threw me out. I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave you, but I was afraid if I told him that he would figure out who I was."

Dorian smiled. "He didn't know?"

She shook her head and shuddered. "So, what did you think of the Dark Court?"

A slow, wicked smile spread on his face. "Oh, Celaena," he breathed. "It was marvelous. It was perfect."

She narrowed her gaze. "I was joking. They were killing things, Dorian. For fun. Things like us."

He didn't seem to hear her, his eyes looking past her to the bright window. "There was this knight, not yours. He…" Dorian shivered and seemed to abruptly change the direction of his sentence. "He had a cloak all lined with thorns."

"I saw him talking to the Queen," Celaena said.

Dorian shrugged off his jacket. There were long scratches along his arms.

"What happened to you?"

Dorian’s smile widened, but his gaze was locked in some memory. He shifted it back to her. "Well, obviously I got inside the cloak."

She snorted. "What a euphemism. Did he hurt you?"

"No more than I wanted him to," Dorian said.

She didn't like it, neither what he was saying nor the way he looked when he talked about it.

"How about you, Celaena? Did you revenge yourself on Ronan of the Silver Hair?"

She couldn't help the blush that crept across her cheeks.

"What?" he demanded. And she told him, the blush growing hot as she did. It sounded even more pathetic out loud.

"I don't know if I should call that slick or be really afraid of what you are going to use that name of his for in the future. Can you just keep ordering him around indefinitely?"

Celaena aimed a mock-kick in his direction. "What about you and your knight? I mean, look at your arms; is that normal?"

"Makes me shiver when I touch them," Dorian said reverently.

"At least we're scaring each other."

"Yeah, well, I better get back home. What's next on the faerie agenda?"

Celaena shrugged. "I get sacrificed, I guess."

"Great. When is that?"

Celaena shook her head. "Wish I knew. Samhain, that's Halloween, right? Probably at night."

Dorian looked at her incredulously. "Halloween is in two days."

"I know," Celaena said. "But it's not like I have to do anything. I just have to yell and scream and pretend to be human for a while."

"What if they get pissed that they were tricked?"

Celaena shrugged. "I don't know. It's not my problem, right? All I have to do is be a good victim."

"Yeah, hopefully not too good a victim."

"Gavriel and Lys wouldn't ever put me in any real danger."

"Yeah, okay. Well, that's good."

"You think they would?"

"I think it sounds dangerous. I think we haven't seen too much so far that is part of Faerie and isn't dangerous."

"True," Celaena said.

"Oh," Dorian said. "I stopped to get a coffee at my job this morning, and I saw my boss Ren. He said that if you want that job at the bookstore, you can start tonight at six. It's the shift before mine, so I guess I'm not fired after all."

She smiled. "So I guess I'll see you tonight. I'm glad you're okay."

"I would be even better if I was still there," Dorian said, and all her worry returned in a flood.

"Dorian..."

He smiled, that weird distant smile that he'd gotten under the hill, and she wanted to shake him by the shoulders. Something had to snap him out of it.

"See you tonight," he said, slipping on his jacket. He flinched as the lining brushed his arms, and, uncharitable as it was, she hoped that it was because the scratches hurt.

As Dorian left, she checked her phone and saw she had quite a few text messages. One was from Ren—probably about the job—and the others were all from Chaol.

Celaena settled on the mattress on the floor, picked up the phone, and called Chaol. She could leave a message for him about where she was working tonight. It was a public place. If he came to visit her there, she could take off the enchantment, and then everything with Nehemia could go back to normal.

"Hey," a male voice answered. There was a vaguely metallic whirring and grating in the background.

"Oh. Hi," she stammered. "I thought you'd be at school."

"I'm in stagecraft,” he replied

"This is Celaena." She felt stupid again, as though a few words from him were some kind of benediction of which she was unworthy.

"I know. Teacher is about to have a hernia, so we got to talk fast. I want to see you. Tonight."

"I have to work. You could come by—"

"What time?" he said, interrupting her. She felt awkward, hyperaware of each word she spoke, waiting for him to start teasing her and absurdly grateful when he did not.

"Six."

"Meet me after school. You know which one my car is?"

"No. Why don't you just come by my job?" She tried to wrest back control of the conversation.

"By the entrance, then. The big one. I have to see you."

She hesitated, but she had no real reason not to meet him there. After all, removing the enchantment would only take a moment. What happened after, well, maybe it would be better if she was somewhere she could leave. "Okay."

"Good." With that, the phone hung up, leaving her feeling as though she had drunk two-day-old coffee on an empty stomach. Her nerves were fried. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then shucked off Dorian’s butchered clothes and put on some of her own. They fit over her glamour, but she could feel that her jeans were about five inches too short.

**********

It was weird to be standing outside a school that she should have been going to, but didn't. Some of the kids looked familiar, people she had known from elementary school. Mostly they all just looked like the strangers they were.

_ Human _ , her mind whispered.  _ They're all human and you're not. _

She shook her head. She didn't like where those thoughts took her. It was alien enough that she hadn't been in a real school in years. Sometimes, like now, she missed it; missed what she would never have. She'd hated elementary school. She and Nehemia had been friends by default. Kids teased Nehemia for her being adopted and Celaena for her stories. 

"Hey," Chaol said. He was wearing sunglasses and a gray T-shirt under a heavy navy flannel. He took off the glasses when he got close to her. Dark circles ringed his eyes. "Why didn't you call me yesterday? I texted you a million times. I stopped by Nehemia’s, but you weren’t there. You weren't at your house either."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was out." He looked so serious that there was something suddenly funny about it. The magic came easily now, rushing to her fingers and spiking along her tongue, but she made no move to lift the enchantment.

"Celaena, I…" he started, then seemed to think better of whatever it was he was going to say. "I can't sleep. I can't eat. All I can do is think about you."

"I know," she said sweetly. Kids passing by them gave Chaol sidelong glances. She suddenly understood why she had let him kiss her in the diner, why she had wanted him at all.

She wanted to control him.

He was every boy that told her she was too freaky, who had laughed at her, or just wanted her to shut up and make out. He was every man who had sneered at her, saying she would never win the fight— even though she always did. He was a thousand times less real than Rowan.

Her face split in a wide grin. She had no desire to play pretend anymore, no need to prove her worth by Chaol’s regard, no desire to know how different the lips of a popular boy were from any other boy.

"Please, Celaena," he said, reaching for her wrist, holding it tightly, pulling her to him.

This time she pulled away abruptly, not letting him crush her to him, his lips nowhere near close enough to take another kiss. Instead, she twisted her hand out of his grip and sprung up onto the cement edge of the steps.

"Something you want?" Celaena taunted. Kids had stopped along the path, watching.

"You," Chaol said, reaching for her again, but she was far too quick. Dancing out of his grasp, she laughed.

"You can't have what you can't catch," she goaded, cocking her head to one side. Madness made the blood dance in her veins. How dare he make her feel awkward? How dare he make her measure her words?

He snatched for her hand, but she pulled it away easily, spinning along the cement wall.

"Celaena!" he said.

She squatted down, legs wide, chin thrust toward him. "Do you adore me, Chaol?"

"Yes," he said frantically.

"Are you besotted with me? Would you  _ die _ to have me?"

"Yes!" Chaol’s eyes were dark with desire and fury. Behind him, students were laughing and whispering to one another.

Celaena laughed too. She didn't care in the least.

"Tell me again what you would do to have me."

"Anything," he said, without hesitation. "Give me a chance. Make me do something."

The laughter died in her throat. She tossed the magic off him, dispersing the threads of it with a sweep of her hand, as one would brush aside cobwebs.

"Never mind," she said, angry without being sure of why. Angry and suddenly ashamed.

Chaol looked around him, the school apparently coming into focus for the first time. She could see the blush creep up his neck. He looked at her with something like horror in his eyes.

"What the fuck did you do to me?"

"Tell Nehemia to call me," she said, not caring that that made no sense, not caring about anything except that she needed to get out of there, needed to get away before she careened totally out of control. She didn't even spare him a glance as she crossed the student parking lot, heading home.

**********

Ren was waiting for her in the office of the bookstore. He handed her a name tag. She put it on dutifully while he explained what she had to do.

Sometime later, she stood behind the register and rang up a copy of The Davinci Code for a middle aged man.

Her head swam with the smell of dust and the terrible thoughts of what she had done. It had felt so good, so absolutely right to taunt Chaol as she had. And now, knowing what she could do, was it possible to unlearn it, or just a matter of time before she used it again?

There was a rustling sound nearby, and Celaena looked toward the woods warily. It was Mischief Night, and Ren had already warned her that kids might try to toilet-paper the place.

But the figure that emerged had hair that was the same shade of brown as dirt, and the cloak on his shoulders blew back to reveal thorns on the inside, set like a bed of nails. He had a grotesque brown leather whip strapped across his back. Other than the white of his skin, the only pale thing he wore was a single white stone swinging on a long chain.

"You?" she said. "You're the former Dark Court knight Gavriel told me about?" She'd seen him talking to Queen Maeve at the ball. He had seemed loyal to the Queen. Was that part of the plan?

"You're in good hands now," Cairn said.

"You made the marks on Dorian’s arms."

"Indeed I did. He is exquisite."

Looking into his eyes, she suddenly knew why they seemed familiar. She'd seen them in the bar the night that Tern had lost it.

"You," Celaena said. "You did something to Tern, didn't you?"

"We needed you to come home, Celaena."

The knight touched the stone around his neck, and Celaena felt magic sweep around her, settling on her body with an oppressive weight. She felt smothered for a moment as scents became vague and her vision dulled.

"Remember, we have to make it look real," he said as she choked.

"What are you doing to me?" Celaena managed to say. Everything felt numb and strange.

"That glamour you were wearing would fool no one. I am simply restoring the one you should have been wearing."

"But Halloween isn't till tomorrow," Celaena protested. There was a strange prickling all along her arms. This time it didn't seem as though it came from inside her. Something was happening. Her heart sped, and she could feel… something, a strangeness. And then a dark shape hurtled out of the clouds.

Something roared over them.

Celaena threw her arms up over her face. She tried to scream, but when she opened her mouth, it was filled with wind.

Hands clutched her shirt and legs and hair, lifting her and passing her up into a mass of creatures. She kicked and bit, tearing their long cornsilk hair and ripping their powdery wings. Pointed, catlike faces hissed, and fingers pinched her, but they flew on in a long train of monsters and she was with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You guys are amazing :))))))
> 
> Leave comments n kudos if you feel like it <3


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